


If on a Winters Night

by Fourhumours (orphan_account)



Category: Labyrinth (1986), The Storyteller (TV)
Genre: F/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Fourhumours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road can be treacherous, sharp blades and lying tongues may lay in wait. It can also be full of wonder.  Three strangers cross paths on a wintry night, and a friendship is formed over a story of hearts, promises, goblins, death, a wedding, a girl and a king. </p><p>Everybody knows a story is just a story.</p><p> </p><p>A cross over with Jim Hensons The Storyteller</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A chance encounter

If on a Winters Night

The girl who rejected the King and won everything is a story well loved. But as these strangers who cross paths on a wintry night will learn, one should not take for granted that a story is completely truthful. Things aren't always what they seem.

Here is the beginning of my first Labyrinth fic. It is kind of a crossover with The Storyteller, deeply inspired or something along those lines. The chapter is quite short and its main purpose is to set the narrative structure. The next chapter will dig into it. I am using OCs but my focus is Sarah and Jareth

The rating is T for now.

I am an inexperienced writer attempting something that is possibly beyond my capabilities. Time will tell I suppose. So let me know if you see some rookie mistakes or if it is confusing.

enjoy~

 

 

The rain is hard, footsteps of travellers are washed away rapidly. The cold bites, eyes strained past the surrounding rolling green the Wanderer sees a thick tree heavy with sheltering leafs by the road. The sun will set soon and the nearest town is too far away to suffer. The Wanderer hastily approaches the tree to find, sitting by the trunk, are two strangers. A young man playing absently at his fiddle, he shows surprise at the wonders appearance. The older, leathery man smoking his pipe shows a curious eye.

  
"Do you intend to eat us?" chimes the young man with a light voice that has not been weighed by the world.

  
"No" implores the Wanderer stepping out of the rain, although the voice if flat and dull they could hardly tell but the plea his clear in his eyes."do not be frightened, I seek only to keep dry till the rain passes"

  
"Oh, not much frightens me" laughs the young man.

  
"There is plenty of room here" invites the older man with a voice gravely, expressive and pleasant to the ear.

  
"Thank you kind strangers."

  
The Wanderer sits minding the space. People may act brave but the Wanderer knows they see terror and danger. Brushing away the wet and cold, sending thoughts to the horizon the Wanderer at first does not hear the question.

  
"What sends you down this road?" the older man asks his curious eye turn again upon the Wanderer.

  
"I am a wanderer, any business I have will always be on the road."

  
"Not for the celebration?! Oh I hear it's going to be like no other. I was sent to play my bird song on my fiddle at the castle. There are sure to be beautiful girls there." exclaims the youth man with an arresting excitement.

  
"Perhaps we should travel together" suggests the older man, "I am a Storyteller, and I was sent to entertain with the great old tales at the palace."

  
"Splendid! What do you say Wanderer?"

 

"Alas I will not hear your bird song. I will not hear your stories. I have no place in celebrations"

  
"Well then, the rain is sure to burden our travel for awhile longer. Let me pass the time with a tale for two" declares the Storyteller.

  
"And I shall play my fiddle when your instrument needs rest"

  
"I will lend my ears. And here I have bread that is dry to keep our spirits up."

  
They break the bread and a fondness is born between the strangers, the Wanderer is warmed as fondness is not often returned. There is no hidden terror when their eyes meet.

  
"This rain is not so bad, we have turned misfortune into fortune" says the youth.

  
"Very wise, very wise, life has its bumps but that's the way it is. Not all of us have such perspective. There was once a girl, from very far away who was blinded by her own spoiled ways and clouded by her own frustration. Fuelled by this she tells her younger brother a story from her eyes.

  
'Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl whose stepmother always made her stay home with the baby. And the baby was a spoiled child, and wanted everything to himself, and the young girl was practically a slave...'"

  
"Oh I do like this one" says the youth getting comfortable.

  
The Wanderer stays quiet with eyes shut.  
________________________________________  
The Storyteller lights his pipe again.

  
"That is how she became champion of the Labyrinth."

  
"Bravo!" claps the youth.

  
"Well spoken. Although I never understood how the Goblin King came to love her when they had never spoken before" the Wanderer says softly.

  
"Love can be a fire that needs little fuel," replies the Storyteller.

  
"But it burns out too quickly" quips the Wanderer.

  
"It's for the best, yet I do feel a touch sorry for the King" ponders the youth.

  
"Ah, but not all is as it seems. It is true Sarah had his heart but there is more to it than that for what I told you was through the eyes of a young girl. She cannot see everything can she? While this tale is grand it is part of something bigger: An epic for all we know has not ended. It is history and history is easily forgotten but a well spun tales regardless whether it is true or not will outlast history. What I will tell you has not been recalled for an age."

  
The youth looks on in awe, and now it is the Wanderer's turn to cast a curious eye.

  
The roar of rain fills the silence.

  
"For now" the Storyteller continues "if you'd be so kind young musician, I need to rest my instrument. "


	2. What the heart wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> This here is my second installment.
> 
> I am not particularly pleased about this chapter, part of me wanted to skip straight to what I consider to be the 'fun stuff', but since the Storyteller is telling Jareth's story it wouldn't make sense to disregard chronological order entirely.
> 
> From The Storyteller: 'The Three Ravens,' 'The Heartless Giant' and 'Fearnot'
> 
> Others: A bit of Greek mythology such as Daedalus and Icarus, the Minotaur and every other self fulfilling prophecy Myth. Snow White because in some twisted way (probably the poisoned peach) Jareth reminds me of Snow White. A little Howl's moving Castle? Yes yes yes

The youth's bewitching bird song fits well with the rhythm of the rain, their hearts sing along as they listen.

"That song is like no other" the Wanderer remarks when it is finished. The cold doesn't seem so bad and rain does not seem so inconvenient, for without it this song would not have reached the Wanderers ears.

"It is a song written for my beloved and she is like no other. Every night I play this song for her and when I return I shall play it every night again. Are you rested Storyteller or shall I play some more?"

"Rested and ready I am. Now where were we? We were speaking of hearts, love and the enamored Goblin King. This tale is written differently in this land if a scholar bothers to find it in history books but no matter where you hear it, it begins with a king.

This King wars against his love for his family and his love of power. He compromises with legacy. He becomes invader and tyrant as his lustful gaze turns to the neighboring land. The Queen and the children find their love for the King overshadowed by the fear and disgust at the King's ravenous quest for absolute domination. They can do nothing but watch as the balance of the world tilts.

Like the King they are torn between the two, so they are paralyzed, they live watching until they can no longer watch anymore.

On the day his seventh child is born, a feat among the Fae kind, a prophecy whispered casts a shadow on what should be a happy occasion. It reaches the ears of the King and incubates deep within him.

_ This child has the power to move the stars themselves. This child has the power to end the Kings reign. _

The child is named Jareth. When the King holds him for the first time he sees those peculiar eyes, a tell tale mark of great magic, it is the mark of somebody who can grant wishes. There are many who wish him dead. The King is overwhelmed by the dread blooming within him. The Queen witnesses this and out of fear for her child's life she teaches him well with her eye always watching.

All the while Jareth grows from babe to child. He dazzles with a voice that sways the heart. Day by day his magic grows strong and fearsome. The King he sees wickedness in the child, he sees touches of his own ugly self. The King cannot contain his anxiety, he loves his child but his affinity for control is tenacious.

He sneaks into Jareth's room to room to find he is already gone. He searches all over the castle, the boy is nowhere to be found. The Queen is gone as well. All through the night he searches with magic; he searches with spies until dawn breaks and the Queen returns silent. She doesn't have to say a word, the King knows his son has escaped.

He spies are not silent. Months later they return speaking of a kingdom that never existed until today, that one could sense it was built from magic, and when they entered it was plain to see that the very walls had a spirit of its own, the place was a labyrinth of the mind as much as it was of stone. It was not long before their own vices took hold of them and the master of this strange new place, the boy Jareth, vanished them out of his territory.

The boy had told them:

' _This is my labyrinth; home of the lost, the lonely and the abandoned in which I am King. Tell your King and his army may try to capture this land, however be warned! once you enter this place you are under its mercy. For this is a place of judgement in which I am the judge and the executioner"_

The King fumes, he sends heroes and knights who return beaten or who do not return at all. The Queen using all the bits of land had created a place the Kings sticky fingers could not touch. It grows every day, in population and size; soon it houses a city for the Goblins who have always been pesky nomads are tamed by the dazzling yet wicked King.

Magic has rules stricter and more everlasting than any other laws. Jareth had wondered place to place, charming those with no allegiance so he may lead them. From each territory he collects a piece of land molding it together like a puzzle to form a being. This sublime spirit becomes a Labyrinth naming Jareth its founder and King. But he is a King in debt. For all that he took he is to take those wished away just as his father tried to rid of him. He is to play judge for those who choose to face their tribulation like his father never did. It is a place to prove ones worth, for if the third son can become King while his father and brothers are still fit then a peasant may take the challenge to become knighted.

Jareth is visited by his mother often. She has no need of permission from the great Goblin King, for she has an enchanted ball of red yarn in which she whispers _take me to my son_ before rolling it on the ground, the yarn bumps and weaves leaving a trail that leads to Jareth.

It isn't long before the King notices and in his mortality sends an assassin skilled with dark arts to follow.

_ Bring me the Goblin Kings heart he _ says _so I may see it wither._

So the assassin follows the Queen down the twisted paths, he hides in the folds of the castle and using potent poisons send the Goblin King into a great slumber. He snatches the yarn, he tears out the heart and he is gone leaving devastation. The clever Queen knows that a heart can be replaced so she binds his life to the living Labyrinth shackling him to its life force until he heart is properly returned. Jareth open his eyes and knows his wings have been burnt, this place is his domain and now it is also his prison, for if he leaves for too long he will surely die.

In a fury Jareth takes flight. He hates his father; he despises his responsibilities, now that his heart is winding stone there is no hesitation when he sees the sleeping face of his father. He plucks out his purple heart replacing it with his mothers pin cushion. He looks into the heart seeing a battlefield, scared, bloody and dwindling. _It is time to find the victor_ Jareth thinks to himself taking the guise of the assassin shaking his father rudely awake.

The King takes the heart greedily.

_ Are you sure you want to do that? _

_ Yes. _

The King crushes his own heart ending his own reign. His shadow no longer looms across the land.

The Queen resumes the crown and together with her children restores balance. They go on to build a prosperous Kingdom; they still rule the south west to this day.

Do not fret young man, I will tell you what happened to the Goblin Kings heart. He found that assassin. He took back that heart and that yarn. Some say he turned him into a beast and set his Goblins to torment him, others say he hired the assassin impressed by his abilities.

He looked into his heart and saw loneliness and rejection. He would have to remain King of the Labyrinth, taking screaming babies if his heart remained stone, there was power in this as well as suffering. Walls and traps don't feel as pain as the penetrable flesh in his hand does. He doesn't want his heart. He sends it away, hides it, changes its form, and protects it with strong magic. It is soon forgotten as it is passed to and fro, never given a second glance. Never thought of as more as it simply gathers dust.

Eventually it lands into the hands of a young girl who, unlike to many before her, opens the covers and reads the pages within. As soon as her warm fingers open his heart the Goblin King clutches his chest, such throbbing, pounding, such thunder he thinks he must be dying. The sensation seems familiar he thinks, he conjures a crystal seeing our Sarah awakening his lonesome heart. He is enthralled with the girl but his eyes watch her warily with flickers of fear. The girl is but a child yet she holds his life using it for her play world

Sarah doesn't know what it is only that it feels like more than a book. When she is between dreams and waking with it clutches to her chest she swears she can feel a faint flutter. In this heart she sees his malice, his loneliness and reads that his heart belongs to her.

He wants the girl who sleeps with his heart next to hers."

"That doesn't sound like love at all!" the confused Youth cries.

"Oh" croons the Storyteller, "not all love is true, not all love is honey and not all love is returned. The closer Sarah gets the centre of Labyrinth more and more of his heart is returned. He is able to steal it back when she makes her wish hiding it deep under unremarkable trash only to find it again as if she is pulled to it by some fate. There is magic at play that he doesn't understand. By the end he has fallen in love for his heart yearns for the warmth of hers, she has peered inside him, she has fought her way to his very core, and she has won. He has his heart but it still belongs to her. He still feels her there twined with his soul.

Yes, the cruel Goblin King has a heart sick with love, he had sprouting softness, sweetness yet wicked is what he has been for an age and that is what he is. For it seems even the wicked fall prey to cupid's arrow."

"Does she love him?" pipes the youth

"I cannot say, I'm just the Storyteller, I can say only that it's hard to feel nothing when you look into the very depths of a person. It doesn't matter, she does what it best and the King suffers for it"

The rain is light, not yet finished but well on its way. The golden sun is in its final moments along the horizon, the time has come to end the traveler's interlude and continue on their journey. As the Storyteller takes a breath to continue he is interrupted.

"The story is incomplete" remarks the practical Wanderer, "come, the road is dangerous at night so I will accompany you to the city. I should like to repay you both for passing the time, in my company such dangers are at bay, not many are brave enough to approach me."

"That I do not doubt. I will tell you the rest on the way if you would like, if you do not mind young musician my instrument needs its rest."


	3. Do you fear the dark?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> I didn't think I'd update so soon, I've been in a writing mood recently and I've taken advantage of it.
> 
> This chapter was initially much longer however I've cut it in half, well not quite, the second half is far too long and I feel needs to be a chapter of its own.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy~

“You say you don't know if Sarah loves him, then how do you know he loves her"

"How did you know?"

"Well I... the story I suppose"

"Everybody knows!" exclaims the Storyteller, the Wanderer at his right laughs, although the sound does not resemble a laugh. The raging rain has quieted into drizzle and darkness has descended around them. The clever quiet Wanderer lights a torch pointing it towards the grand city that remains alight with life throughout the night. They are sure to approach the outskirts late into the night, however there is no urgency, their pace is leisurely. The Wanderer walks just slightly ahead with the flame as the youth ponders and prods.

"No matter where you travel to it known across all the lands that the Goblin King loves the girl, even those who don't know why they know or why is it that everybody knows. Tell me young friend, where are you from?" The Storyteller continues seemingly more animated by the atmosphere.

"A village, hardly known, I am the first to travel beyond the nearest market you know."

"Is it known there that that the goblin king loves the girl?"

"Yes it is, how strange! There isn't much knowing in my village, nobody really bothers to stop by to give us any knowing. Would you be so kind? "

"Well, imagine a night just like this, your feet are just as weary as they are now only there is no light to guide your way, no road to assure your destination, no company to keep you safe and no stars as the trees tall and thick cocoon you in with all the terrors of the wild. You have nothing, nothing to assure yourself that you will see the sunrise. The cold cuts deep, it hollows out your hope and just as you are about to shed tears you see a light from out the corner of your eye. It is still there when you turn. It is a bright flame, moving to and fro in-between the trees, you realize its moving away from you. It must be another traveler you think, you think the owner of that flame must know the way. You call after it but it doesn't stop. You chase after it. Your body is heavy, you are in pain and you're afraid you might not be fast even. You push yourself even though you're aflame from exhaustion. You shake from the burning cold. At times the light seems so close, then it is gone, you stop, turning this way and that until you see it again just as you saw it the first time, from the corner of your eye. Then the sun is up, the world is awake and you find yourself at the edge of a forest. This sight before you is familiar but not comforting. You feel even more lost, that helplessness that made your eyes swell with sorrow displays itself as it falls freely down your cheek. You have been led astray. You turn in vain hope, no, in desperation, only to find the boarder of trees gone. In its stead a malefic figure so painfully beautiful and so agonizingly angelic in the morning light."

The Storyteller stops seeing the youth's attentiveness, he sees that his eyes are ablaze with curiosity and huffs, a little dissatisfied at what he sees.

"You don't scare so easily" The storyteller remarks making the youth laugh.

"Don't take it personally, I've never shivered or jumped before. Sorry."

"Interesting"

"Do not doubt yourself Storyteller, I am all shivers here, for a moment I doubted my own torch" the Wanderer's voice is flat as always, yet the two companions trust that the truth has been spoken.

"Imagine! A big thing like you scared"

The youth has a smile that the Wanderer thinks is brighter than the flame lighting their way.

"Please don't stop Storyteller, is this figure the Goblin King? Is that unfortunate soul Sarah?" says the bouncing youth.

"Well the King in his hunger planed a plan and schemed a scheme. He reached into her world, unwinding it and pulling it taut, he yanked and dragged until she is tangled screaming in rage, bound airless to him in a tight twisting knot. You seem surprised young friend. Do not forget that Jareth is not accustomed to the ways of the heart, he loves in the demanding selfish manor a child does, and do not forget that he is wicked. He is tenacious, just like his father.

'Why bother bringing me here?' she hisses, her eyes flashing with fury.

'Why trap me here?'

'Because I want you' he hums with a heavy gaze that matches his words. He removes his gloves.

'And I shall have you' he promises.

Upon his ring finger she spies her mother's ring she gave away all those years ago, and she feels as if a noose has been place around her neck.

'I cannot, I won't, can't you see-'

'Sarah' he demands her silence, 'I am perfectly aware that you intend to refuse me, feel free to excite me with such attempts, after all, we have forever, but remember I will not be denied. This ends one way only,  _precious,_ with you as my bride. I can be cruel.'

'I hate you.'

'It matters not.'

She shrinks away from his advancing embrace, he is quick to enclose her, it is only a moment, it is enough for her feel that lonely heart again and remember parts of what she saw inside. He leaves spitefully wishing her sweet dreams.

Oh poor brave Sarah! Torn from her world, her freedom in the clutches of a powerful man with... Ill-intentions, yet she holds despair at bay. She breathes in deep breath and thinks on what she knows and what she thinks she might know. All through the night her mind is churning, weaving, digging, plotting and prying at the tangled mess she is in. Come morning she has not slept a wink, it matters not because she is bright with determination. She faces her enemy knowing exactly which strings to pull.

He takes from the confines of the castle to a vast garden she thinks must be taken from the dreams children. It is the epitome of nature's beauty and the romance of magic.

'Tell me,' she nudges, 'how do you intend to wed me when I am so unwilling?'

The King smiles a smile for things to come; silent he extends his hand to offer her help down the narrow garden steps. She promptly ignores his hand.

'Nothing good then'

'A matter of perspective'

The rejected hand holds the crook of her elbow, she eyes the ring that was once hers, and he watches her, the gardens splendor forgotten.

'That's my ring' she says lamely.

'It was once. Your ring is here.'

The band he produces is intricate, beautiful and she despises it.

'Oh, how are you going to convince me to wear that?'

He smiles oh so innocently.

'Nothing good then'

'It does not have to be this way'

She turns her head to hide the the twitches of a premature smile as she prepares to make the first tug at the knot."

"Shivers" murmurs the Wanderer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, metaphors
> 
> More Sarah and Jareth to come. In case you are a touch dissatisfied at some of my briefness I will be touching on how Sarah is brought underground again, much later mind.
> 
> This Chapter takes from the 'Fearnot' episode of 'The Storyteller.'
> 
> The second person story is based off will-'o'-wisp tales.


	4. Why settle for less?

"By a sparkling creek, under magnificent Willow tree our heroine makes a request the King had not expected, he sits aloft rolling and passing crystals absently with his thoughts turned inwards.

'Hoggle spoke of weddings in this world. Grand but swift affairs, tell me, are they impatient? Do the people breathe down your neck?'

'Goblins do not keep secrets well, Dwarves are terrible liars, and Mothers cannot contain their happiness, thus these  _people_  you refer to are all a flutter with the mystery of the Goblin Kings bride'

'It seems I have a reputation'

He spares her a glance and a smile, somewhere between mocking and fondness. She needed time, she needed distractions.

'Perhaps I would be more willing to...' she says as if pondering aloud, hesitating with a small hope that she was not digging her own grave, 'take your hand, if I had a dress to match my reputation.'

Oh she has his attention now, for a moment bewildered, brow raised, eyes alight and head tilted, he plays along.

'What of the gowns I have given you?'

'Gowns for a doll!' she hisses, 'for a toy to keep under lock and key, no life of its own, you would have me live this life then I will take what I can from it. Would you have me dressed as a doll or dressed as your Queen?'

He King descends, she is perturbed by his expression, his voice is sharp but his eyes speak a different story.

'I moved the stars for you' he coos, 'this is what changes your heart?'

'It won't change, it beats for freedom, for choice, I won't have it ripped from me so I must settle for the illusion of choice.' She advances, he watches her with arms crossed, leaning against the trunk.

'I want to wear the stars you claim you have moved for me, made from the beauty of toil it must sparkle like a clear night sky, so they will look upon me with fear, awe and envy, for they will know their King would move the heavens for his Queen.'

He grins, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair.

'You are both honey and the bee. You mean to stall Sarah.'

'That may be' she says slowly, she calms and steels herself lightly taking his hand in, hers holding it in front of him, eyes fixed on his.

'Is this not more favorable? A promise, rather than what you have planned?'

He considers this, feeling the grooves of her palm. She is playing him as if she had practiced the instrument for years, he knows, he finds himself a touch delighted, a touch weary, and finds he is wistfully agreeing aloud.

The promise is simple; she will take his hand at the altar in exchange the night sky to wear at the feast. When he leaves for his task she is at work, her nose in books, meeting in secret with old friends and new. All whispers and hurrying, but when the Goblin King returns the work is not done.

She is astounded at the creation he has brought.

'Beautiful! Beautiful!'

'Very fitting for my Queen'

'Indeed, but what of my title as champion? After all the day begins with the procession, there I am not your Queen but your champion.'

'You cannot stall forever' he warns.

'In your haste you overlook! I am first to appear as champion, the girl who cut through your impossible labyrinth, a dress is hardly suitable; they will think your Kingdom easy. Give me armor strong and pale like the moon so that when they look upon me they will know that to oppose me is as useless as challenging the moon.'

'And what will you promise me this time,' the game is tiring on him and he thinks on how to end it.

'After I take your hand I will let you put that ring on my finger'

Sarah, seeing his irritation makes him a silent promise taking his hand once again and pressing her lips to his knuckle. He likes this promise better. So he is gone again, she is busy again and at her bidding the Goblins scatter about coming in and out of her room. This time she is not alone, Jareth's mother comes, Sarah spies her from the willow tree collecting the tail of a rolling red ball of yarn. The Queen passes by without noticing, smiling at the thought of seeing her son, Sarah watches whispering into a hole in the tree.

The king and his men return with armor forged from the heart of the highest mountain, luminescent and harder than steel.

'Beautiful! Fearsome!'

She still needs time, mothers are distracting and mothers are observant."

"Ho, lend your ears" interrupts the Wanderer.

In their silence they hear the approach of slow moving hoofs. The Wanderer passes the torch to the musician and sinks back into the darkness. The light of the flame reveals a gray spotted horse, its rider sits backwards and hunched dressed in rags with a hood decorated with a great bird skull. The horse stops, the riders head is drooped, fixated on the candles flame he holds in his hands. He remains his way as he speaks to them.

"Strangers, would you tell me where I am headed?"

"You are headed to the great Northern City carved from white stone and paved with riches. Recently the young King has returned and restored peace," answers the Storyteller.

"Thank you stranger" says the stranger with a smile. He resumes his journey. The youth wants to call out to the rider but the Storyteller shakes his head.

"Why does he ride backwards?" The musician whispers.

"It's an old tradition for oath breakers, one must journey taking faith in their horse, they sit backwards to reflect, they must keep a single flame alive until they are atoned. A rare sight, friend, it seems this night is full of unlikely encounters."

The Wanderer slouches back into the light taking the place as guide again speaking a little louder than usual.

"Let me guess, she asks for a dress for her title as bride to wear at the ceremony?"

"Indeed, brighter than the sun she wants it, gold and unforgettable. This time she kisses him on the lips and the joy that swells in him feels like suffering.

'You mean to trick me'

'I do'

He decides he wants to play too, and there in front of her eyes he turns Hoggle, Ludo and Didymus into cowering stone statues.

'So this is the limit of generosity' she hollers tittering on despair.

'On the morrow of my return we wed' he promises leaving her to grieve her situation. With heavy tears she embraces the marble figures, they are so cold, their hearts still beat and they whisper in her ear that all is not lost.

This time her barely leaves her room, the Queen will spy her occasionally with her hands cupped to the willow tree for up to an hour at a time. The Queen, she loves her son, when she sees his wickedness at play, she feels torn, so she does nothing.

Jareth returns confident that he has won the game. The dress is unlike anything she has seen, with all the radiance of the sun that inspires life, and from her eye a small sparkling tear falls.

'Yes, this is what I asked for.'

The morning bells chime. All creatures great and small are animated with the day's excitement, the streets filled, all is prepared and the guests arrive in high spirits. Only Sarah's room is quiet and still.

'Gone! Queeny gone! She don't like our presents,' the goblins cry to their King. Panic! Alarms! And oh the palpitations! Gone? Gone where?

'Well,' he says grabbing the nearest goblin and tossing it out the window, 'find her!'

The guests, the onlookers are mystified and thrilled; they join in the hunt laughing, howling and scouring the Labyrinth Jareth had so keenly opened for them.

The sun sets and the bride has not been found. The willow tree is gone an earthy creator in its place, the statues are gone and the garments gone. Upon the Goblin King's throne a pin cushion with a note punctured by a needle. It reads:

_I would not to something as ugly as to break a promise, however I never promised to willingly go to the altar. I'll do all as promised if you can get me there. I have outrun you Goblin King._

_Farewell,_

He turns then to his mother.

'Please, Mother, please'

She complies hating to see her son in pain, she retrieves her enchanted ball of yarn and in front of eager onlookers she rolls it along the ground. The ball stops only a few feet from her. It no longer bumps and weaves a path, it lies still and ordinary."

"So Sarah took the ball!" exclaims the youth.

"Yes in fact, it was discovered much later on that the golden knocker had witnessed something that day, he was unable to say so until somebody took pity and took the ring out, straight away he spilled everything he had to keep plugged away. He saw, following in an elegant dance behind the yarn's tail three faceless black mannequins, one wearing the moon, one wearing the sun and the last wearing the stars. The Labyrinth shifted, a great wall obscures the knocker's sight, all but above the wall, where he saw the top of a grand willow tree shuffling forward with loud creaks and groans.

Other than that nobody really knows what happened to cunning Sarah, she's still missing to this day, not even the keen eye of the crystal can see her. The tree has been spotted here and there, but no sightings of the bride. So that is why the inclination of the Goblin Kings heart is such common knowledge.

If you must know it is mostly because Goblins cannot keep secrets, dwarves' are terrible liars and mothers cannot help but talk about their children."

"Oh no, don't end it here, tell me what happened. You can't start and not finish properly" pleads the musician.

"Rest assured, once the rest is discovered you will hear it from me and regardless of whether it is what you expected you will be satisfied because it has ended, you must forgive me I have been eager to share this mystery."

The Wanderer stops and turns, they have reached the edge of the city's light, music, warmth and laughter emanates from within.

"I will go no further," the Wanderer proclaims.

"Will you not join the celebrations?"

"Such things are not for me"

From a pack the Wanderer fetches a small bundle and hands it to the Youth, he takes it and unwraps to find an unusually small dried Sunflower. When his fingers touch the stalk it comes to life, becoming full, the color restored, vibrant even in the dull light.

"This kind of Sunflower is rare, it feeds off parted love. It is healthy as long as you and your sweetheart are healthy. If your heart yearns to see her and her heart is the same, the flowers head will point you in the direction. I have no need of it."

"Thank you friend"

"And for you, Storyteller, I shall tell you what I have heard whispered on the road. On the island in which the dead rise and fall each day they remember a proclamation involving a ring. Near the vast Amber City they speak of a great slumber awakened by troubled love, and how the lovers where not ready to pay the price of devotion. Down south west they laugh about well meaning sisters and brothers who intervene forcing misunderstanding and tragedy. One thing remains the same, the bride disappears on the wedding day and the King chases her shadow. If you want to know what happened that day find the roaming willow tree. For a kindly giant once told me, If you have a secret burning within you go up into the mountains and find a tree well hidden. There you must carve a hole, whisper your secret within and clog it with mud so there your secret will always remain. Except this giant delighted in unclogging these holes, he'd press his ear to the hole and listen to the secrets within. The secrets of the runaway bride are in that willow tree."

The Wanderer does not wait for the travelers to reply.

"I doubt I shall see you two again, farewell"

The youth's tongue is haltered by awe and the Storyteller kindly nods. The Wanderer is consumed into the night. The musician brushes away tears.

"Come," says the Storyteller, "there is a long day ahead of us tomorrow, an historical day that will be sung about for years to come no doubt, come, don't cry friend, did you know the marble statues of the bride's friends are in this city? Yes! I will show you tomorrow"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is taken from the 'Sapsorrow,' 'The Three Ravens' and 'Hans my hedgehog' episodes of 'The Storyteller'
> 
> \- Also reading other 'Peau D'âne' related stories as well as the 1970s film starring the magnificent Catherine Deneuve
> 
> \- After reading tales about trees
> 
> \- In the mood for love and 2046 is where the secrets in a tree idea is from.
> 
> \- As for the man riding backwards thing, it's from a story I heard as a kid, I'm sorry, I searched but I couldn't find the particular story I heard it from. Dang. I've got to mention Gaeliceyes' Return to the Labyrinth, this is partially inspired by it after all.


	5. Fingers perched at the cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta reader, let me know if you are interested that would be awesome

"It's far too early sir Storyteller, not even the birds are awake" groans the youth, staggering down the street as he struggles against the pull of sleep and dreams.

"We must be early, sir Musician, or we will be blinded by festive crowds," the Storyteller is not so drawn to rest, his mind is too occupied with the busy little happenings here and there that piece together and connect with those big happenings. There is an alert brisk manner in which he strides towards the city's center.

"Wait," the youth whines with his hand extended, "you still haven't told me why they are here"

"Well, the story of the young girl who beat the Labyrinth is popular in these parts. A while back a young woman named Miharu took a wrong turn coming home one night. Poor girl! She was cold, distressed, lost and most unfortunately she was not alone. A great tall hungry shadow traced her footsteps. She did not notice at first, thought it was just the sounds of the woods, cliffs, and the ocean. Then she felt its presence tinging up her spine, breathing down her neck, but when she'd turn there was nothing to be seen. In a fright she sprints. Behind her she heard heavy footsteps, rapid, deafening and invisible. The night sky breaks, unable to hold the storm back, there are flashes all around her, far and near. Miharu stumbles into a cave, realizing her mistake she turns to meet her predator. Lightning illuminates, the shadow shrieks and cowers before her, and when she turns back around she too is shocked at first. It is a great marble statue of a horned beast howling to the heavens. There is a rumbling that is neither the hungry shadow nor the turbulent forces of the storm. The earth shakes and the cave mouth collapse warding away the shadow, opening again when the safe morning sun rises. Miharu accepts no reward for the recovery of the statues, instead she pleas they be displayed in public for all eyes to see. And, well, you can't have monuments traitors of your own kingdom! And nobody has seen the Goblin King in a long time. So they are gifted to the great Northern City..."

The musician listens while draining the sleep from his eyes, he does quite notice the Storyteller has stopped speaking. They have reached the city's square, a marvelous display of gold, sapphire and marble. After some quiet moments of awe the youth begins to extend his sight for the famed statues. Instead he catches the sight of a small gathering crowd around a marble platform and his new-found friend striding towards them. The youth catches up in a lazy jog.

"What has happened here? Where are the Statues?" the Storyteller whispers to a friendly baker.

"Nobody knows! Except for him" she says pointing to the disheveled drunk laying sprawled upon the empty platform.

"The statues are gone?!" exclaims the dumbfounded musician.

With gentle care they awaken the man, give him water and the baker feeling charitable gives him her first loaf of bread for the day. When the man finally talks his brow is drawn, pausing here and there to dig past the aches and pains to the memories laying beneath.

"There was a man... no a beggar on a horse... he rode in the dead of night. He held a candle... and yes, he rode backwards. I was on my way home at such a sight I had to stop, if anything to see if it was a hallucination from the drink. The beggar stopped... er... it was right here, he got off and... Well, I'm not too sure... The statues were no longer thus. They breathed. I went to tell them off for stealing, well; I went to tell them something. The drink must have gotten the better of me for I do not remember anything else."

The Kings guard arrives to escort the man away, patting him fondly on the back like old friends. The disappointment of the missing statues is quickly forgotten as the city springs to life, a spectacular frenzy of color, dance and music as happy hearts flood the street, hearts full of love for their returned King. Nobody notices the sun crawling across the sky until it is gone and their feet begin to pain.

There is a great fog that descends late into the night, thick, and more formidable than any city wall. All through the streets the Kings men knock, shout and yell:

"The fog remains this night and the next! Anybody who values their safety stays within the city bounds!"

The rumors spread and galvanize.  _The lords and ladies that had gathered for the celebration commanded the mountain spirit to cloud the roads_ , they say.  _A spurned lover takes their revenge_ , they say.  _The King forgot to invite the mountain spirit in doing so inviting mischief_ , they say. They are all a buzz.

N _obody can travel safe in such fog tonight._

_It's cursed!_

_Somebody came to this city and now they do not want them to leave._

_A menacing shadow descended upon a merry feast._

_No! Wrong!_

_Yes! True!_

_Not a shadow. A beauty._

_Nonsense!_

They whisper about a strange thing as well; a mysterious raw-boned beast seen all across the land dawdling down the roads. They say a merchant saw it; a tall shadowy creature stepped onto the road giving the merchant a fright. The creature paid him no mind, slouching past him and disappearing into the forest.

In a tavern closest to the wall of fog business is good and the night is merry. There are even a few dancing to the song of a fiddle. The stern waitress Una serves ale and speaks of this strange occurrence with the merchant to a table of stranded travelers. They shiver and laugh. The music stops replaced by a voice that walks on air.

"I know this fellow! He is a friend of mine" declares our young musician.

"You know this merchant?" inquires Una

"Never met him no, but that creature you spoke of I met it during the harsh rain"

"I heard it's the shadow that chased Miharu. I heard it searches for lone travelers to eat," cries a drunkard.

"It eats bread for all I know" he shrugs bringing his fiddle to his chin he thinks of the hunched Wanderer in the misty rain and plays. Astonished, the people look on. Usually they would laugh away such a ridiculous claim, no laughter comes, and they are arrested by the music and the twinge of sadness that strikes the chest of the listener. It is the Youths first song that speaks of melancholy.

As if summoned by the strings of the Fiddle the Wanderer enters the tavern in a burst of cold wind, squeezing through the door into the warmth. Cowering falls upon the humble tavern and a brandishing of weapons at the appearance of such a nightmare.

"Do not be afraid" begins the Wanderer in that flat voice.

But they are afraid. All except one, the youth leaps and throwing his arms around the creature hugging him.

"Friend!" he cries, "I did not expect to see you here, what a delightful surprise."

"Oh, it is the musician. It is nice to see you well. As for your surprise, you are right to be, I would be on my way by now and normally I do not seek places such as this to rest but the fog on this night has nastiness to it"

Although the creature seems horrible, Una is more afraid of the tension in the room, slaughter is bad for business. She approaches and introduces herself.

"And what is your name?" she demands.

"Golly, I don't know your name friend"

"We did not speak of names therefore we never learnt them. Call me by profession please"

"I am Freddy," the youth and Wanderer shake hands.

" _Fine,_  Mr. Flâneur," Una bows slightly, the air becomes easy and all that is left are worried eyes. Una is apprehensive at first but in the end the Wanderer pays double to sleep on the floor of the youth's room and agrees not to leave the room for the whole night. She tells the onlookers the creature has gone back into the mist and leads the two friends out the back to find a more hidden entrance.

"If you would be so kind, my companion should be returning later tonight, could you tell him which room we are staying in?"

"Another friend?" she laughs turning her eye to the Wanderer, "how shall I recognize him?"

"He goes by Storyteller"

"Ha! That old drama queen, yes I know him. Be wary of his tales, they are fun because they obscure truth, after all tweaking history is the job of a successful Storyteller. This tavern is my family's business, my brother had to errands out of town so I have had to cover for him. My usual profession is scholar. And while the grey-faced men confuse themselves over the scholarly matter of the opposite sex I have dedicated my studies to seeing as many truths from as many angles as I can. Tell me which tale has he enticed you with?"

"The Goblin King's runaway bride" answers the Wanderer with a small hidden smile.

They enter through the back; she leads them to the nearest room and pauses at the entrance before speaking again.

"The King is not as wicked as he says, still nasty, of cause, but there was a proclamation which bound him by law, he fought it tooth and nail, I have letters and documents to prove such actions after all. I guess it is just a story though... I shall return with your belongings Freddy."

Una's quick exit left them pondering in silence, the Wanderer becomes occupied with building the fire, and the musician Freddy watches reflecting on the swift suspicions of the tavern people. Feeling sad for his gentle friend the musician buys him a goose pie and they share it by the fireplace.

"How was your performance during the great celebration? Did you perform for the returned King himself?"

"Oh yes I did, handsome fellow he was. So many people I thought I'd never lay my eyes on, I even saw the Goblin King, although it was brief and peculiar. I had a grand time but it was a peculiar affair, I don't think I can quite make sense of it. Our storyteller was there, he is sure to come in later, he will explain the whole thing, and after all I would not rob him of his profession."

To pass the time they compare places they have been. The Wanderer describes places that the youth has dreamed of going to, like the floating islands shaped like eggs that the locals say will hatch if the sun gets too hot. The villagers fight everyday over whether the egg is from a turtle or a bird.

"And for you what is the most favorable place you have been to?" asks the Wanderer suddenly embarrassed at talking at length.

"Out of all the sights and wonders it is home because that is where my sweetheart lives. And what of you friend?"

"I suppose it is the same. Home."

Freddy retrieves the sunflower smiling softly as it bends its bright head east. He is suddenly disturbed as he remembers how it was shriveled before it was gifted to him.

"Where is your home sir Wanderer?"

They stare for a moment, the Wanderer's dark eyes widen, eyes that where always so flat like the Wanderer's voice contained a flammable spark. Head snapped away, those flashing eyes fixate on the fire, wheels turning inside, groaning loudly the Wanderer thinks pulling its cloak over its thick fur torso.

"I think I shall wait for the fog to pass, then I will tell you, in the meantime would you like to hear a secret? The nosy giant in the mountains told me one that he unplugged from a tree. It went like this:  _When I was a child I wanted nothing more than to fly, I wanted to reach the mountain tops and sing of victory. When I grew up I became so afraid of falling it was as if I was standing on a faulty bridge trying to cross a pitch black chasm. I was so careful, so practical. Everybody was envious of me for I hardly had to suffer. Now that I am old I wish more than anything that I had fallen, at least once, that I had leapt into the unknown. Every day I wake up knowing I have hardly lived, because to fly you must risk falling._ Sad no? Don't let life clip your wings young musician. _"_

The door opens, the Storyteller has finally arrived, his face alight, he cannot not wait to tell his new friends what had just occurred.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by 'The Three Ravens' episode of 'The Storyteller'
> 
> The Wendigo and many more previously mentioned.
> 
> lazy I know, but I've got to leave the house and I just needed to post this.
> 
> Also all of repetition of 'slouches' and 'hunching' is inspired, referencing etc From The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats


	6. The House Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> Thank you for following, reading and reviewing.
> 
> Sorry it has taken me awhile to update I'm lazy and only updated on FFnet, I'm posting it all now.

Goblins are not known for their bravery. They are playful, violent, silly and a great many things that are not brave. Sog, goblin soldier for the Goblin King is scared, yet he remains at his post, after all he had his orders; nobody passes this city gate. The cold on this dark night cuts to the bone, yet it is the sight of the churning fog, however, that causes him to shiver.

"Halt!" he commands, " No thing big or small goes in white cloudy."

The cat twitches its ears, staring blankly at Sog standing proud at the smaller city gate. The cat ignores his demands skirting past Sog with blinding speed. The clumsy Goblin chases with loud protest, his efforts clumsy and weighted by thick bronzer armour clattering about. He leaps, landing harshly on the ground, a silky tail slips through his knobbly fingers as the cat darts out of reach.

The cat hisses at the heavy fog, arching its body with a low growl. For a moment it stays on edge before darting back to the city's gate with scattered ferocity. Sog stares, transfixed by the festering white wall, it feels as if it is coming closer, it feel as if it wants to consume him, he is paralysed by the nauseating yet mesmerising flow. Trembling he wills himself to shuffle backwards. From somewhere deep within there is a groan, a resounding snap that awakens Sog instincts. The goblin flees, thinking surely death has come for him tonight. He reaches the gate. Not tonight.  _Dids I think that up?_ He ponders. His relief is stunted, there is a raging howl echoing from deep within the wall. Sog spends the rest of the night shivering in a box, wishing he were behind the walls of the Labyrinth.

The teeth are just as sharp, a mat of fur and feathers just as repugnant and those talons just as intimidating. It was the eyes that had changed, for when the Storyteller looked into them he found they were no longer hollow. He noticed too that its frame no longer seemed to towering; perhaps it was because the Wanderer sat crouched with a cloak covering its body.

"Well hello, I did not expect to see you so soon"

"The fog is peculiar this night."

The Storyteller's face lights up again and with haste he drags the armchair from the far wall to the fireplace, plopping himself down he looks into those changed eyes.

"It is isn't it" he finally says barely containing his smile.

"Well, tell us what happened" prompts Freddy placing the sunflower back into his breast pocket.

"Oh what a night! Roasted pork! Dancing! The hall was alight with laughter. The King was overjoyed to see his family and friends again, and what a handsome fellow this King Ersa is, dark hair, amber eyes and sunny face. He was still the same loveable prince, though much changed, he is a man now who wears his golden crown as a responsibility, but did you see?"

"Yes I did, he seemed distracted or impatient, I couldn't really tell" Freddy answers.

"Yes he did, if you looked carefully you could see a slight frown every now and then, his eyes would wonder to nowhere in particular. The nobles who came from across the realm to celebrate such a joyous return didn't seem to mind, what is one distracted King to the dawn of a peaceful age? Oh and what a crowd there was, royalty and legends all dressed handsomely. There was one guest however, that nobody expected to see. It was just as our young friend was about to play his birdsong when the great hall doors burst open. There he was! What an entrance! With a swirl of dust that shimmered like the sunset on the clam sea, clad in black with hints of blue. The Goblin King had appeared. We were all agape as he sauntered towards where King Emerson sat at the head table, a sly smile was the only acknowledge of his bewildered audience.

 _'It's him! The Goblin King',_  they whisper,  _'Where has he been? When was he last seen?'_

'It is good to see you again, King Ersa' he says with a bow.

Oh dear Wanderer, how to explain just a voice? Sharp and divine all at once, was it not Freddy?"

"His singing voice was something else as well"

"Oh yes. Yes! We'll get to that soon.

King Ezra returns the sentiment, 'I was told not to expect you, though nobody could give me good reason for your absence'

'I have come only to pay my respect, rather taxing business calls my attention.'

'Will you not stay? We have missed you dearly. Come, at least for the entertainments. Why we were just about to hear the bird song that can enchant even the cold water nymphs.'

'If the returned King insists'

'Very Good. Come man don't be shy' says King Ersa turning his attention to our young Freddy. He played wonderfully! You really did Freddy; I saw the Queen of the snowy hill top elves shed a tear, I saw the blood thirsty Wotan smile ever so slightly and King Ezra seemed transported. There was a thunderous applause.

Many recalled how The Goblin King could compose lyrics masterfully on the spot, with heavy demand he agrees to sing along with our young musicians song. He sings of the first throws of love; two strangers who are strangers to love are set alight upon first sight, hearts aflutter and with cheeks coloured they pass each other and hope tomorrow they'll see each other again. His voice is unique, deep wouldn't you say? It is a voice that resonates in your chest beating along with your heart. The Goblin King takes his bow and moves himself to the side leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and brow drawn. He stayed there for much of the evening. Our young Freddy left soon after his performance."

"I missed my sweetheart"

There is a knock on the door from Una returning to drop Freddy's travel pack. She eyes the Storyteller a touch sourly.

"I see you have found it" she states, dropping the pack on the floor.

"No trouble at all"

"You should have waited," she points her finger before turning to Freddy her tone suddenly friendly. "Sorry Freddy, I was able to bring your pie earlier but the pack had to wait, I'm sure Storyteller has failed to mention the hunters hired looking for suspicious characters-"

"Spoilers!" cries the Storyteller trying to hush Una.

"I thought so, some things are more important than a drawn out story," the sternness in her voice silences him in a huff, "you haven't told him have you?"

"He's safe Una, I was just getting to it"

Freddy and the Wanderer exchanged a worried glance before Freddy speaks up for an explanation. Una gives them a reassuring smile; she speaks to them in a relaxed yet straightforward manner.

"Mr. Flâneur, currently the city is being scoured with little success so they are looking for anything odd. The guests have thought you suspicious and mentioned you to these hunters. Lucky for you the only people who know you are here are all in this room. I believe it is in your interest to stay here until the mist has cleared."

"You have my gratitude," says the Wanderer relaxing, once again touched by such rare kindness.

"That's very kind of you" Freddy adds relieved from his momentary worry, momentarily sending the Storyteller a schooling look.

"You are certainly fearsome to behold, quite mysterious too, however it does not seem fair to hand you over for these reasons only. Think nothing of it Mr. Flâneur. Oh come now I didn't spoiler your story really"

"No" sighs the Storyteller

"Well my shift is ended, the guests are all off to bed, the days festivities spoiled and I have no doubt you know why. You are always in the middle of these things. I would like to know, information is my true trade after all. Freddy told me the Goblin King arrived at the royal feast." Una joins Freddy and the Wanderer confidently on the floor by the fire looking expectantly at the annoyed Storyteller. After a moments silence she gestures for him to continue.

"Well, that's where we were up to. Freddy left and it was my turn to offer my services. It is thrilling to have a captive audience and King Ersa listened carefully to all the stories he missed under that nasty curse. He was reserved, but like you said before, distracted my some matter. He listened, yes, he did not laugh and cry as the others did, he seemed to be all thoughts, all thinking. Then when the story of the girl who beat the Labyrinth was requested, I had to hesitate, this story is well known and loved from all corners of the world and I have told it to all sorts. Never to Goblin King himself. All eyes turn the Goblin King, sharper and colder than the winter's night he is.

'Proceed. It is no concern of mine.'

So I told the story with the usual delight, well received, however, gazes flicked to the Goblin king with every spout of laughter and gasps, nervously they gage his reaction. Very few dared to glance his way as I told the climax: the Goblin Kings final ploy. I found my curiosity win out I looked as I spoke his final words. A mask of stone he is, just as his heart once was. His reaction was not the most shocking one. King Ersa's interest is unwavering and by the end he has tears in his eyes, such a rare sight from the sunny King who never shows his suffering, and what suffering he has endured!

'Well said' he breathes.

The stone mask cracks, surprise leaks through and melts as the Goblin King considers the weeping King. There is a burst of music, swirling of vibrant silk and a dazzle of jewels as dancing commences, entertainments forgotten in order to cheer the king.  _Dry your eyes friend,_ some say to him, _and_   _join the dance._

'In a moment' he says over and over. The Goblin King who was no longer obligated to attend stays, eyes always on King Ersa until he peels himself from the wall and begins to make his way to the Kings table.

Oh the timing friends! There is another late arrival. The music slows to a halt, the crowd parts, all attention given to her as the doors creaks open. She is here. A dark hair beauty with a swagger to her step, oh what piercing eyes she has! She is wearing what seems to be the very night sky."

Freddy's eyes bulge and Una brings a hand to her mouth as she gasps. The Wanderer's gaze doesn't stray from the fire, for the most part is seemingly unmoved aside from a small smile.

"If she is here then the beggar riding backwards we saw yesterday could be her"cries Freddy leaping up in a half crouch.

"Why would you think that?" asks the Wanderer.

"Oh yes I think so too, but we'll discuss it later when you all know all the details.

The room is an hushed buzz.  _Who is it?_ They whisper, _could it be?_ Many had seen her before yet they were still unsure.

This… woman makes her way, always looking forward, to the Kings table, all those whispered questions and all those nagging suspicions are quelled with one word.

'Sarah'

It is not the Goblin King who speaks her name. He remains frozen to the spot with those peculiar eyes locked in a heavy stare. It is King Ersa who rises from his place and speaks her name."

"How does he know?" pipes Freddy.

"Maybe he heard the tale of the Goblin King's runaway bride?" reasons Una.

"Perhaps they had met previously" joins the Wanderer.

"The very questions we all asked ourselves!

Sarah smiles and bows to the returned King. Then, she shivers, her head snaps to the side as if she could feel him, the Goblin Kings gaze clashing with hers. Oh how we held our breath as they both looked at each other with awed stupor, their breathing heavier as they seemed to speak without words.

'This is unexpected' she says mostly to herself.

The Goblin King breaks their spell by taking a step towards her. His abrupt movement causes her to falter; taking a step back before she schools her features. She turns dismissively to the returned King.

"Well your majesty?" she asks with a sudden impatience.

The Goblin King peels his eyes away frowning at King Ersa sharing the room's confused sentiment. Oh but how to explain what happens next? Young friend do you mind? Play something while I get my thoughts together"

"Oh I do want to know what happens next, I will give you your time Friend. What you like to hear?" Freddy asks nobody in particular, as he begins plucking his Fiddle he looks at the Wanderer. It is Una who makes the suggestion.

"That song you played earlier, it was beautiful and melancholy, I quite liked it"

He plays with his eyes closed a touch embarrassed to open them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, My Storyteller is a asshole.
> 
> Jareth has been pretty quiet, not for long I think.
> 
> This Chapter is based off episodes 'Fearnot,' 'Sapsorrow,' from 'The Storyteller'
> 
> I don't know how to write lyrics, you must be satisfied with my summery.
> 
> I wanted this chapter to be longer, well include more, i have a feeling his fic will be longer than I had initially intended it to be. I've got my work cut out for me.
> 
> I still don't have a beta, let me know if you are interested in helping me out. yay?


	7. When the Music is Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special super awesome thank you to the amazing Sylphien who fixed everything and is continuing to fix all the other chapters.
> 
> *Applauds loudly*

The city sleeps, the people warm from the busy day. Freddy's song has ended but the companions find themselves too excited to succumb to the pull of sleep. As he puts his fiddle away, bashfully accepting compliments for his sombre song, he sees something so briefly he thinks he may not have seen it at all. Something he thinks might be more rare and precious than jewels: he sees a tear upon the Wanderer's cheek.

The Storyteller resumes his tale, oblivious to the moment before him.

"I warn you, young friends, there are pieces missing from this story, but nothing remains secret for long. It is my duty as a Storyteller to fill these gaps, once I do you will be the first to know," warns the Storyteller.

"Just tell us already," whines Freddy.

The King cleared his throat.

"My esteemed guests, here before you is Lady Sarah, Champion of The Labyrinth, and my rescuer! The sorcerer who cursed me into slavery, all those years ago, willed that I should appear as a beast. When my true form was allowed my appeal to strangers for aid would be forgotten the moment I left their sight. It was Lady Sarah who severed the ties to my captor, allowing me to return. For when she came across the sorcerer's cabin, she did not forget, she possessed magic preventing those who would tamper with her memory. Her business with the sorcerer was forgotten as she exited the cabin, gifting to me my captors head."

"I do not forget so easily," said the Champion, no doubt speaking to both Kings. The irked Goblin King raised a brow.

"Yes. I was adamant to repay my debt. I swore an oath to reward her once I learnt her name. It was a wager of sorts, if I could guess I would have a dance. When I asked for a clue: 'Listen well to the Storytellers, I'm rather famous here,' was all she said. It is good to put a name to my rescuer. Come, dance with me damsel, and we shall settle my debt." The King moved towards her and she took his hand. In the centre they began the dance before the music played, and after a turn others joined the waltz. They shared odd, solemn looks, mixed with small smiles as they spoke in hushed whispers.

When I went to observe the Goblin King I found he was no longer where I had last spied him, nor anywhere in plain sight. I think she, too, noticed. Her eyes would flicker sharply about the room, as if trying to spot a shadow in the thickets of a dark night, then those eyes would return to the sunny King.

So seamlessly, in the blink of an eye, the dance partners had changed. King Ersa returns to his table, his court advisors whispering in his hear, he nods and nods and whispers back.

Ah, I suppose it's not right to say the dance partners had changed, the dance between the Champion and the Goblin King never ended. There they were, his hand clasped in hers and his other rested on her waist. Her hand hesitantly placed on his shoulder. The other dancers watched, bending their sight towards them with each turn, how could they not? Oh what would I give to hear the words passed between them in those precious few moments, her cautious eyes softening for a moment, and only a moment; what had made her scowl with venom? One has to wonder if his words matched the tenderness in which he looked at her, or if his words matched his actions as he pulled her, breathless against him, in a turn. Her eyes bulged and she pulled from him suddenly, slipping through his fingers when he reached for her. The dancers stopped and stared, and she caught them. Wildly she turned, piercing them with her fury.

"I am not here for your amusement," she hissed causing some of the more faint of heart to recoil. The music stopped. She spied yours truly, the quiet observer to this peculiar moment, and fixing a sneer, she said: "you've had quiet enough of that."

"Sarah," the Goblin King attempted to hold her attention, she ignored him continuing her intimidation, taking slow steps her chin rose as she stared them down.

"I'm not here to play nice," she continued, when the Goblin King called her name again she faced him sharply, "nor am I a criminal!" The room parted again, leaving a wall of bodies in front of the halls exit. Sarah and her adversary in the centre stage. "Yet I am often treated like one," laughing bitterly at the incidental barricade, she stalked towards the Goblin King, spitting her words.

"Hounded, chased, and my life and freedom torn from me with bloodied shackles." She pushed past the stony Goblin King, her gaze fixed on King Erza. It didn't falter when the Goblin King clasped her elbow.

"Sarah," he said, with strength and warning, "let's take this conversation somewhere private."

"My patience is expended, as is my tolerance for such company," she addressed King Ersa, who stared nervously.

"You are being too rash,  _precious,_  there are things you do not know yet." There was a touch of anger in his voice. The champion pulled out of his grasp and, standing her ground, she paced again, eyeing him before turning towards her audience. She has guts this girl, yes, but different from the poised confidence in which she first entered the great hall. In this moment she was tightly wound, an air of danger about her that made her appear to be a vengeful creature from one of the pits of hell. She is strong, her voice commanding.

"So dramatic," he growled, earning himself a look of arrows and daggers.

"You should have warned them, oh great, returned King. The child champion is grown and much changed, but perhaps it was wise not to," she gestures lightly to the Goblin King. He stepped forward, she stepped aside, and they moved slowly in a circle. He carried himself like a coiled spring, his movements sharp and measured. She continued speaking to King Ersa, eyes locked on the Goblin King.

"I have been punished for my transgression, lashed and tortured time and time again, when will it slacken? No, I have long since given up on forgiveness now, as my good deeds are wasted, for my punishment is indiscriminate. I will not be burdened by the mistakes of a child any longer. Now I only seek to take what is rightfully mine. You had asked for time, King Ersa, but I find myself weary and anxious to leave. Will you keep your word, your majesty?" She spared a glance for King Ersa, who rightfully looked anxious at that moment. Oh, he risks breaking an oath, and he risks getting on the wrong side of a very powerful kingdom. The King's advisor leaned forward to whisper one last thing into his ear, only to be dismissed by the King, who stands, his voice somewhat resigned.

"I cannot break my oath, I grant you the pathway between the under and above world to use as you please. The door is hidden deep in the mountain pass."

"Deep, but not well, your majesty," she quipped, flashing her victory in a smile. The Goblin King's stance was rigid, in the throws of something akin to panic.

"This is unwise," he warned.

"As is breaking an oath," returned King Ersa.

"What a wise King you are!' she cried in bitter mirth, "observe and learn, oh fearsome Goblin King, here before you is a truly honourable man, a man matured by suffering."

"I have suffered you, little girl."

"How terribly fortunate for you that I will soon be gone."

"Do not think you will leave here so easily, precious."

"If there is one thing I  _have_ excelled at in my lifetime, it is  _outrunning you."_

"Oh, you can't honestly say that you have ever truly been truly free of me," he faltered as soon as the words left his lips, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "There are more important things to discuss, come, let us talk in private."

"Ha! I think not. There is nothing keeping me here any longer. I take my leave of this world now, my story here has come to an end." With an abrupt bow, she made for the exit, the guests parting for her and that dress fluttering behind her.

"Stop her!" the Goblin King shouted, commanding the guards at the door.

"Let her go," countered King Ersa, "I can hardly treat my hero as a criminal." The guards fell back, and she smiled a smile: sad, bright and beautiful.

A blinding flash and smoke. A cheap parlour trick used for distraction, shocked the room while she bolted. Cursing, the Goblin King transported himself into the chase. Out she went, down the steps, and presumably into the night; for the Goblin King returned soon afterwards, alone. He marched in, that star spun dress clutched tightly in his hands, dragging behind him.

"King Ersa," he roars, "do not open the doors for her."

"This is my domain, Goblin King. You cannot command me against my oath."

"She cannot leave, not yet. I would ask your majesty to detain her…"

"I cannot imprison my saviour."

"Then prepare yourself, I will set this kingdom alight with my wrath, boy." The Goblin King conjured a crystal, and outside the howl of a storm began.

"Then we must compromise," King Ersa suggested quickly. "Rübezahl, the mountain dweller whose magic holds great control over the winter air, has promised me a gift. I cannot place a warrant on her head, and I cannot break my oath, however, I can ask the great Rübezahl to surround this city in mist. For two days hence nobody can enter or exit, present company excluded, of course."

The crystal disappeared, and the howl quietened.

"We have a deal." And with that, the Goblin departed in a swirl of stardust.

The Storyteller leans back into the chair, watching the gobsmacked expression upon the three sitting before him.

"But what was the Goblin King going to say to her?" prods Freddy, after a stunned moment.

"He never did say, and depending on whether or not he catches her in the next couple of days, we may never know."

"What else happened?" demands Una.

"Well, not much after that. The guests left mystified, and no longer in the mood to celebrate."

"Except for you," Freddy points out.

"Yes, why are you so goddamn happy?" Agrees Una.

"Being in the middle of a story is always exciting! Oh, did I mention I was granted a private audience with King Ersa on the morrow?"

"You did not," Una says, a touch harshly from her jealously.

"Oh, do tell me what he says," pleads Freddy.

"Of course!"

The Wanderer draws closer to the fire. "Why do you think the beggar is the champion?" The Wanderer's flat tone is laced with curiosity.

"Yes, who is this beggar?" asks Una.

"On the road here, we crossed paths with a hooded man riding a horse backwards, holding a candle. Only it must not have been a man at all, but Sarah in disguise; for this morning we were given a description matching that of the same person freeing Ludo, Hoggle and Sir Didymus from their stony slumber. At the feast she did say that there was nothing keeping her here, perhaps it was her friends fate that had prevented her from returning home all this time?"

"From what you told us she seemed so hateful, so different from the girl that charmed the creatures of the Labyrinth, but it seems she still cares deeply for her friends. I hope she wins, I hope she finds her way home." Freddy pats his breast pocket, where his sunflower rests.

"It's best not to involve yourself too much, the story is curious' but that is all it is. We do not know these characters personally," says the Storyteller, lighting his pipe. Freddy frowns, he cannot help but feel that the Storyteller is wrong.

"It is time for bed, no doubt the scholars will have much to say on this tomorrow," says Una, taking her leave.

With sincerity, they wish each other a good night. Freddy and the Storyteller take the beds, while the Wanderer insists that the floor is more comfortable. The Wanderer listens carefully, waiting for the companions to succumb to the rise and fall of sleep.

Sog shivers violently in his box, fingers buried deep into his ears, waiting for the great groaning and cracking to pass.

It does.

It travels down the great streets, all the while creaking, breaking windows and turning up stone. A gnarled root crashes through the baker's shop, yet they sleep on undisturbed. Its great branches sway as it travels to the city square. The great willow tree plants itself on the platform, where the statues were once displayed, guards surround it but dare not approach. They look at it with a shiver of fear. Hanging in plain sight and swinging in the breeze is a severed hand, coated in blood. There, the tree rests for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jareth and Sarah got issues man
> 
> Thank you all for reading, reviewing and following.


	8. Chapter 8

he rosy fingers of dawn fall upon the northern city, it is resentfully sober as it awakens with lingering pain, taking slow heavy steps into the day. Routine has been made awkward with broken streets, a caging mist and a defensive, conscious tree, which has made a home in the city square. One of the King's guard steps too close in the early hours, the great willow tree shivers and branches lash out on the unsuspecting victim, leaving a wide gash upon his chest. After that the center is left empty, the guards preventing entrance.

When the sun hits midday a barn owl soars around the city center, he descends towards the willow tree only to rear backwards, narrowly avoiding an aggressive branch. The owl takes his true form as the Goblin King in the city square. He approaches again with cautious, steady steps.

"I have missed you, My Lady Willow," he croons sweetly with a polite bow. The tree shivers and groans. Smiling, he takes another step. The great tree thrashes one of its great roots, breaking the paved stone in warning.

"Do not defy me," another step. She pummels her roots loudly against the ground again. Jareth summons a crystal and, as he sends it into the air above him, it ignites into a ball of flames for a searing moment.

"You are either here to distract me or to carry Sarah through the mist, I have been generous, Lady Willow. You would already be in flames if it was not for my generosity, but know this: If I do not have Sarah by tomorrow morning, I'll be using you as fire wood this winter."

Suspicious looks are cast and shared throughout the city streets, as rumors of a fugitive or a beast spread like wild fire. In a tavern near the city edge the rumored sleeps peacefully into the day, next to the dying embers of the fireplace. The Storyteller has left at a respectable hour, rearing to begin his investigations and meet with the returned King Erza. Freddy finds himself awake in the early afternoon, feeling unsettled. He has been affected by a dream that he can't quite remember, he can only recall the image and figure of a woman, and the muffled sound of somebody crying and whispered secrets. Stiff and groggy, he drags himself out of the warmth of the covers.

"Are you still dreaming, friend?" He asks the mound of fur on the floor.

"No," the Wanderer breathes, turning towards him. The answering voice has much more animation than Freddy is used to, and it leaves him somewhat stunned at how soft, yet bitter, it had sounded previously.

"I have just woken from a powerful dream, it has left me starting the day feeling a little ill, like I've forgotten something important." Freddy fumbles, dressing quickly to chase the cold away.

"They say winter is the season for dreaming, that dreams are more vivid to keep the mind from despairing in the cold. My friend in the mountain once told me a story of a young man on a winter's night. A spirit had come to him and whispered a secret in his sleep, he awoke to see the spirit slip out of his bed chamber and into the night. Do you know what happened next, young friend? The man couldn't remember what that spirit had said; he thought about it every day, and when he didn't think about it he'd suddenly remember the secret for the flash of a moment, only to keep on forgetting and thinking. Eventually, he could think of nothing else, and he found himself completely aimless. He made a journey to the mountains soon after to share his own secret, that he had become afraid that the spirit would visit him again."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know, he never returned from the mountain."

"Oh, you mean to frighten me!"

"Nothing of the sort, a dream is just a dream and the man was a fool to treat it as anything more."

"I suppose you are right," Freddy smiles, amused at the Wanderer's peculiar means of comforting. "It is strange, I've only ever dreamed of places I will go, and when I'm there I only dream of home and my sweetheart."

"I am much the same friend."

The hours trickle by, and the pair spend their time in comfortable laziness, entertaining themselves with a riddle or a peculiar observation.

Una enters with hot stew, a heavy book and a somewhat apologetic smile.

"Yesterday we were all smiles and laughter, and now there is fear in the air. The city is tense inside this cloudy cage that has a beast within, and I'm not speaking of you, dear Mr. Flâneur. A rather vicious willow tree found its way in the city centre last night."

"From where?" asks the Wanderer standing abruptly.

"From the mist they say."

"How does a tree move?" Freddy asks, laughing.

"A normal tree does not," Una shrugs, and drops the thick book on the bed. "I thought you might need something to pass the time, and this is related to last nights discussion. I have marked the relevant pages, and now, thanks to this cursed mist, I am back to work." With that Una makes an abrupt exit.

"I like her," says the Wanderer.

At times it had seemed to Freddy that the Wanderer had very few friends, in this particular moment as Freddy regards the Wanderer he feels that perhaps this is not entirely true, the creature reveals so little and yet he feels he has made a close friend.

"How did you become friends with the giant who listens to secrets?" asks Freddy suddenly.

"He gave me hospitality for a time, we were friends then."

"But not now?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"I refused to tell him my secrets." The Wanderer flashes a toothy grin.

Freddy opens the book to a marked page, inspecting it closely. After turning a few pages in silence, he turns to the Wanderer.

"How is your reading?"

"Is there something that you don't understand?" The Wanderer sits next to Freddy, who moves the book between them, so they can both view it.

"I understand none of this; I only ever learnt a few words. Here! What does it say under this?" Freddy points to an illustration, painted with pale colours and a dark border. In its centre, under large white arches, is an angelic man lying in slumber. In his limp hand a rosy, bitten peach rests. In the background an aged Queen looms, leading a progression of ladies towards the resting beauty. The Wanderer is silent for a moment before turning back to the previous page.

"It starts here:

_The Queen beseeched her son out of concern for his happiness to wed, however, King Jareth had no intention to follow through with his mother's request. Instead he placated her with a proclamation: that whoever should complete the tasks he set, he would marry. The task itself was impossible, and it became clear to the Queen that King Jareth had no intention to marry any of the ladies who came to court. After all, who could guess what the Goblin King, patron of dreams, dreamt of? What kind of gift was more precious than gold and jewels?_

_The Queen knows the answer, but she is forbidden to speak it aloud. Set to overcome this new challenge, the Queen gives up on the nobility and turns her attention to the Labyrinth's Champion, Sarah Williams, to complete the impossible task. She knows that Sarah would not willingly partake in something that rewarded in the marriage she so despised, so the Queen proceeds with trickery._

_She begins first at the annual banquet of peaches, where she secretly feeds her son poisoned fruit, sending him into a deep slumber. The Kingdom despairs, for only the Queen knows the sleep is temporary and that the King will awake when his tasks are complete. In the meantime, she sits in the place of King Jareth, and thus has access to the doors between worlds. The Queen visits the Champion, coercing her with pleas and tears to return and rescue her son; eventually Sarah takes pity and follows the Queen to the world below._

_The Queen leads Sarah to her sleeping son, all the while crying false tears._

" _I don't know how to save your son, I'm sorry," the Champion says before the sleeping King._

" _Please, humour an old lady, they say a kiss breaks a cursed slumber," pleads the Queen. She begs and claws Sarah's refusal, until the Champion agrees. Sarah leans over the King, and with hesitation, kisses him. The champion turns away, she sees that the Queen has dried her eyes and wears a satisfied smile. King Jareth awakens and is forced to follow the law and hold true to his proclamation._

_For what's more precious than a kiss from your sweetheart? In the throes of love and longing is there anything else you would dream of?_

Who writes this garbage?" The Wanderer closes the book and moves to the window, peering out to check the light of day.

"What else does it say?" Freddy protests.

"I'm afraid if we read too much more our Storyteller friend will be forced to talk about something else."

"True."

At the mention of sweethearts, Freddy feels the urge to look at his sunflower; but he finds that what had once been fresh and full of life now seems duller and slightly wilted. The young man turns it towards the Wanderer in silent question.

"Oh, that is not good," says the Wanderer with wide eyes.

"What does it mean?"

"That flower is connected with whatever it is that brings light into your life, causing it to bloom. It wilts now because that connection is starting to fade, I believe this means your sweetheart is simply unwell, do not fear."

"And if it shrivels?" Freddy asks, thinking of how the flower first appeared in the Wanderer's hand. The Wanderer suddenly becomes quite interested in the belongings by the fire, delaying response. "Then she is no more," comes the final, bleak reply. "Would leave now to see her if it were not for this mist?"

"I would." Freddy buries his face in his hands, rubbing worried tears from his eyes.

"Would you risk leaving before the mist is called away?" tests the Wanderer.

"That's impossible."

"It's not."

Freddy jumps at this; wide eyed, he crouches by the Wanderer, and the sunflower still in his hand.

"It is not without its share of danger," continues the Wanderer. However the warning is lost on Freddy as a petal falls free and flutters to the floor, danger is nothing when his sweetheart lays sick without him. The Wanderer hushes him when he eagerly pushes for their method of escape.

"You'll have to trust me, friend, first I must thank Una for her hospitality. I will stay and write her a letter while you gather your things and make your way to the City Centre. That tree came through the mist; if we can convince her to she may carry us through to the open road. DO NOT approach without me. Instead count the guards, stay unseen and wait for me. We will make our move before the sun sets." The Wanderer is all business, already retrieving the parchment and ink and smiling at Freddy who nods keenly.

"But," Freddy ponders, "how will you get there? I mean, those hunters may be after you."

"I excel in travelling unseen."

The young man has lived his life too honestly; his heart hammers harder in his chest the closer he gets to the city square. He begins to realize the gravity of what they are about to do, beyond trying to convince a violent willow tree to carry them safely, it has occurred to him that they are probably about to commit a crime against either King Erza or the Goblin King.

He walks surreptitiously around the square, counting the guards at each entrance. There are eight guards patrolling so far. The streets are quiet and empty. When he comes across the pavement, damaged by the willow, he stops and questions his decision again. He leans against a wall, taking a small break and watching his own breath in the cold air.

"Ho, young friend, what are you doing here?" Freddy contains his cringe at being spotted and turns towards the Storyteller, who strides towards him with a happy grin.

"I… er… heard the rumors."

"Oh, indeed," says the Storyteller, taking note of his pack with a slight frown, he decides to ignore it, for the moment.

"Would you like to see it? I was given permission by the King."

"Yes, I would," Freddy answers carefully, "did you really get permission?"

"Oh yes, Storytellers know more about these things than palace guards. Come, this way," the Storyteller guides his young friend towards the city centre again. Side by side, their steps are leisurely.

"How was your meeting?" Freddy asks, to fill the silence.

"I was hoping you'd ask. The King wanted to tell me about the time he spent cursed and captured by the sorcerer. What is interesting about this tale is that the sorcerer's specialty was in breaking spells and curses. No doubt she could cast them, but she made her trade in breaking him.

When I asked the King confirmed it, Sarah didn't just happen upon the cabin, she had sought it out, looking for a cure of sorts. She told him so when they met him outside of the cabin. At this point the King had almost given up on his freedom, and barely bothered to implore her for help. However, seeing his chains, filthy clothes, and his listless expression,  _she_  approached  _him_.

"And what ails you stranger?"

"Even if I told you, you would not remember," he replied tugging angrily at his chains, thinking this was just another lost cause.

"So you have given up? Would you spend the rest of your life in chains?"

"I would not."

"Then you must keep trying, hope is your strongest weapon, lose that and you are truly a prisoner."

The King looked at her then, unable to conjure a reply. He cried silently instead, her talk of hope had bloomed in his chest and cut him deeply all at once; for he was sure that once she turned her head, she would forget him entirely.

"This is an issue of memory?" her question is met with a nod.

"As soon as your turn your head you will forget me."

"Is that so? I happen to have an aversion to forgetting, see here," she pulled her dark hair behind her ears, revealing finely crafted metal earrings. "I had my memory tampered with once, and it almost cost my something dear, these protect my mind from magic. I went through great lengths to make sure it would never happen again, it cost me dearly, too."

She asked for his name and he gave it, with a coy smile she stood, eyes shut tightly and arms spread wide as she turned on the spot. She opened them, that same smile still on her lips as she bowed to him.

"King Erza," she said, mimicking the formal courtly manner. The King laughed through his tears, the pull of a smile on his lips which he thought had been forgotten long ago. The hope inside of him which no longer felt bitter, but light and full of sweetness.

"That suits you more, I think, your subjects must miss your smile; but I am no hero. I have come here for business, not to make enemies with a powerful sorcerer, if I free you it will cost you, and I warn you that the price may be steep." She knelt, looking him in the eye.

"My Kingdom is not poor, my Lady, I would give you all my riches if you asked," offered the King.

"I have no need for  _riches._ I have given you hope when you had lost it, and I offer you freedom from your chains. I want you to repay me in kind, for my hope dwindles, no matter how hard I try to fan the flames of it. Swear to me that you will do this, swear to me that you will help me remove the yolk that suffocates me, swear this to me, because when the time comes for you to repay your debt, you may not want to."

"I swear."

With that Sarah entered the cabin, the King watching from the window, by all appearances it was business as usual within. Sarah slid a small item wrapped in a cloth across the table, a kind of flower the King is not familiar with. In return, Sarah is given a small blue bottle. His heart sinks, he thinks she had forgotten, the magic is strong enough to break even her protections. The interaction over, Sarah remains seated still, pointed towards the door, she says something that infuriates the sorcerer, who then charges out of the door, threatening to kill the King. As the Sorcerer bellowed from the doorway, Sarah stood, she reaches over, tucking the flower back into her bag. In a swift motion she strode towards the Sorcerer, unsheathing her sleek blade, and in one swing removed the Sorcerer's head from its shoulder. In death, the spell is broken, and the King is free."

"She really did kill, huh," Freddy adds, realizing the story is over

The pair pass past the guards smoothly, who warn them not to get too close to the willow. Neither of them expected the tree would appear so monstrous, with its towering presence and the ghoulish red hand, hanging from its branches. Nor did they expected it to be so beautiful. Freddy feels stupid for thinking he can ride this, he decides that when the Wanderer comes to meet him he will pull out of their plan. He will wait for the mist to pass, and much it tears at him to be away from his sweetheart while she is ill, but it is better than never living to see her again. How could the Wanderer possibly persuade a tree?

"Hey," Freddy says, in the midst of an afterthought. "Do sunflowers grow in these parts?"

"They don't," replies the Storyteller.

Dusk arrives and the pair enjoy the orange haze of the sun sinking below the horizon and resting for the night. Although the square is closed off for most citizens, the lamps are still lit like clockwork, and a shadow within the shadows approaches.

"I did not expect to see you here," the Wanderer addresses the Storyteller

"Nor did I. How did you pass the guards?" The Storyteller asks, exaggerating his own surprise.

"Rested for the night," the Wanderer smirks, turning to Freddy, "ready to go?"

"No, I think not, I have returned to my senses, friend. It is best that we wait for the mist to pass." Freddy mumbles an apology, not willing to look his friend in the eye.

"Oh, I should think so!" cries the Storyteller. Something knocks against his shoe, causing him to yelp. The trio look down, spying a crystal ball rolling between them. They watch as the crystal trails past them and towards the nearest building, and then into a tin cup.

"It's the beggar, it's her," the Storyteller says quietly to himself, before walking confidently towards the beggar they met on the road, who sits still and huddled close to the ground. Freddy follows, not hearing the Wanderer's warning as he stresses after them still.

"Well, well," the beggar croaks as they approach him, "what do we have here?"

"N-nothing," squeaks Freddy.

"Nothing?" The beggars voice becomes deeper and smoother, he springs upwards, proving to be alarmingly tall. He tears at his hood and cloak, tossing it aside. "Nothing? Tra-la-la?" says the Goblin King, standing magnificently before them, with his arms placed strongly on his hips.

"My, my," mumbles the Storyteller, before bowing deeply. Freddy, a tad flustered, follows suit. The Wanderer does not.

"Entertainers have no business in a closed square," he sharply turns his attention towards the rigid Wanderer, "and what are you calling yourself?"

"And why should a beggar want to know?" the Wanderer counters harshly.

"This is no beggar! This is the Goblin King!" chides the Storyteller.

"At this moment he is a beggar, is he not?"

"Forgive him, please, your majesty. He is not accustomed to the world of Kings and Queens. As for our presence, I was given permission by the returned King to enter this square, I have taken advantage of his kindness and brought a friend for company." the Storyteller further pleads his eyes.

"Leave and all will forgiven." Jareth dismisses them with a tight smile.

"Yes, of course, but before we do, may I try your patience for the sake of my profession, your majesty?" grovels the Storyteller.

"What is it?" Jareth answers, sharply.

"If you could be so kind, please inform us as to why you traveled to the city in such a fashion."

"Ah, that. My penance for breaking my oath was one of reflection. Leave. Now," he demands. Freddy and the Storyteller jolt into action, walking briskly away. The Wanderer makes to join them as well.

"Ah! Ah! Not you," they stop in their tracks, and Jareth clarifies his command by pointing at the Wanderer. "You and I need to have a little chat."

The Wanderer growls.

Before any more can be said and done there is a cry of rage from across the square.

"YOU!" screams a dark haired woman, missing her left hand and dressed in thick leather armor. With her good hand she draws her sword and charges towards the Wanderer. Jareth summons a crystal, transforming it into a blade of his own.

"Miharu," the Wanderer curses, sprinting sideways, towards the Lady Willow. The tree does not shiver, nor does it attack the Wanderer, who makes it to the base of the tree. Miharu curses, ceasing her pursuit. She grinds her teeth and wipes away angry tears as her eyes flicker from the Wanderer to the dangling hand.

"Stay back," warns the Goblin King, pushing Freddy and the Storyteller behind him.

In one seamless motion, the Wanderer's fur tears away, and in an explosion of dust it is replaced with gleaming armor, paler than the moon. The old and now lifeless skin rests on her shoulder as a cloak.

Sarah brandishes her blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Sapsorrow,' and 'Fearnot' episodes of Jim Henson's The Storyteller inspired this chapterand it is safe to say it inspired the previous one.
> 
> In the previous chapter Sarah had a touch of Cinderella to her, in this chapter she resembles a Prince more and Jarethis reminiscent of Snow White.
> 
> King Erza's confinement comes from Neil Gaiman Stardust and Homer's Odyssey.
> 
> The bloody hand hanging in the tree that appears in this chapter and in the previous, this is something I came across when looking at Japanese Yokai and folktales.
> 
> The idea of the peach banquet comes from Chinese mythology, specifically from Journey to the West. In this mythology peaches symbolise immortality.


	9. Chapter 9

"What is happening?" the young musician inquires of the old storyteller, staring at the tattered fur and feathers draped across Sarah's shoulders., The mouth of sharp teeth that had smiled so rarely now hung open on her back, as if frozen in a cry of agony. Jareth's eyes become fixed, his brow etched with some deep thought while his fingers twitch occasionally. The champion stands tall in the tree's shadow, her stare alight, but she shivers and her breath is visible in the cold air. Neither the musician nor the Storyteller know anything of Sarah, only stories. Stories and speculations she had listened to in silence. This realization brings shame to both of them. There is the deep remembering of a kind heart, draped in the thick skin of a monster which now hangs at her back.

The Storyteller turns towards the musician, pondering his question "I cannot say for sure, only that it appears that I've been wrong about a great many things. I did have my suspicions, a few doubts here and there, but I have a feeling there are more mysteries afoot tonight than I had anticipated." The Storyteller's keen attention is fixed on Miharu, who attempts to goad the champion away from the shelter of her wooden protector with screamed insults and threats. Sarah smiles, dragging her blade across the pavement.

"As much joy as it would give me to see you buried deep, I don't have time for you, Miharu." Sarah lifts the blade, pointing it at the stony Goblin King, "bigger fish to fry, or so they say."

"Miharu? Miharu hmm," ponders the King, tapping his own slender blade against his foot. The woman turns, flushed, she stutters his title.

"Yes," he remembers, "you are the girl who claimed the reward for my misplaced subjects. Although I recall you swore to know nothing of my other… misplaced items."

"There are debts that need to be paid, I have a right to my revenge" howls Miharu.

"Oh, are you defying your King? He's not so keen on that," says Sarah.

The Goblin King turns to his lost bride. "And you, precious. That is how you have kept yourself hidden for so long? As a haggard beast? Such a pity."

"Don't act so surprised, you must have known something"

"That skin is covered in magic, similar to the Labyrinth's, there aren't many people able to turn my own kingdom against me."

"Your prison," Sarah corrects.

"Don't test me, little girl," he snarls.

"God forbid you should be tested." she turns her hand to the tree, coaxing it to lower the bloodied appendage, and Jareth's heated retort is unheard over a visceral cry from Miharu.

"They say amputees will feel the phantom of their missing limb forever," mocks Sarah.

"You heinous bitch," the huntress hisses back.

"Caught me red handed," her voice reverts back to the same flatness in which she had spoken as the Wanderer, delivering a second shock to her onlookers as she waves the severed hand in a leisurely taunt. She is an eerie vision, hugged by shadow as the pale armor illuminates her features. How easily one could mistake her for a vengeful spirit. Now that the teeth and claws have been torn away her new comrades feel a chill of danger they had not felt from her before, she protects herself with more than armor. The Goblin King smiles as if simultaneously amused and embarrassed, Sarah pointedly ignores him. His sword has now disappeared, his arms crossed, content to observe. A coiling spring, waiting.

Sarah points the hand towards its original owner. "It's preserved with magic and easily reattached at the right price, you know, but there is a price if you want it back."

"I will pay it in your blood."

"You could certainly try, but you are in quite a bind. Before you is somebody close to shaking free her shackles, and as we all know desperation leads to extreme measures. Behind you is my diligent debt collector, who is restless to settle whatever business he still claims to still have with me."

"Debt collector?" Jareth snorts.

"And," she continues, ignoring the king's indignation, "towering above us all is Old Lady Willow. What she lacks in words she makes up for in violence, and she is not awfully fond of you, dear Miharu. This is your choice, Miharu, this is your price. I will give you back the hand I took from you, and with it you can leave and free yourself from that which haunts you. I speak of debts, but you never knew that you took something from me which is far more precious than this. For that I will never forgive you, but I will move on because there is no happiness in chasing old debts." Sarah tosses the appendage, the huntress catches it to her chest, trembling, and she knows she is defeated; if not for the deadly tree then for the way the Goblin King looks at the champion. Miharu is not the only one who thinks that in this moment Sarah's sobering words were meant for Jareth too.

Freddy tugs on the Storyteller's sleeve. "Did she cut off her hand?!" he whispers.

"It would certainly seem that way, yes. Perhaps in this story it was not the shadowy beast that hunted the girl on that dark night, but the other way around," he explains.

Looking over his shoulder, Jareth interrupts the two whisperers. "Storytellers will often have the confidence of kings, queens and legends, but they know nothing of truth, the tales are bent at the source. Those kings, queens and legends lie to save face and humiliate their enemies." The king turns back to eying his enemy and intended not intending to hear if the Storyteller has a response.

"Yes, that is often true," the old man admits solemnly. "These tales are distorted, but there is always an element of truth to them. The truth never matters if you want to tell a good story, don't you think? After all, who could have known that under such ugly skin was a Princess? I suspect that Miharu lied about the true events so that more people would be on the lookout for such a creature, no doubt she wants our friend dead."

"What should we do?" asks Freddy

"Nothing, it is not our place, we would only be in the way." The Storyteller answers, a little shaken, paranoid that he has insulted the king.

The cause of Miharu's rage and loss is returned, and with it the prospect of the future brightened. She counts her enemy's strengths and weaknesses, sizing them against her own limitations.

"Leave and keep living or stay and meet a bitter end," announces Sarah.

"This isn't over," declares the huntress, making her escape.

"It most certainly isn't," replies Jareth, catching Miharu's eye with an unspoken promise.

Silence fills the air, the champion raises her blade, holding it still with one hand, with the other she beckons the Storyteller and musician who are still standing uncertain and astonished behind the Goblin King.

"Sarah, really?" Jareth is met with a sharp glare in reply. Sighing, the king turns on the two; he pulls, pushes and shoves until they are tumbling towards Sarah. Confused, the pair look at the king who shoos them with a flutter of his wrist. Sarah urges them behind her and obediently they comply with scattered nerves and cautious glances to the braches above. In the thick trunk something catches the Storyteller's eye, a hole plugged with mud that renews his excitement. Meanwhile, Freddy, unable to voice his feelings settles a hand on her shoulder, a gentle nudge to try ad let her know that he is still her friend. She removes his hand, and from her pack she slips a note into his palm.

"Satisfied?" asks the great and terrible Goblin King.

"Hoggle, Ludo and Didymus?"

"Back to being pathetic little scabs. Free to wreak whatever idiotic havoc they will upon the Underground," he answers, as if tasting something bitter.

"It changes nothing, oath-breaker, whatever penance you claim to have paid I am leaving tonight."

"I know," the king sighs, relaxing his posture. "How easy it is to fall back into old habits. I had rather hoped we would have this conversation alone."

"What is there left to say?" she asks, her venom changing rapidly into exhaustion.

As if on cue the tremendous willow groans, startling them all. Twitching its thick roots she begins to sway. Sliding off the platform its branches whip downwards, capturing the young musician. The Champion and the Storyteller make a fruitless effort to free him as the willow lifts him out of reach.

"What are you doing?" cries the Champion. She rushes to the willow, however, her attempt to climb onboard the fleeing tree is thwarted as she is deliberately flung to the pavement and her sword falls out of reach. She pushes herself up slowly with her hand clutched to her side as she watches the tree gain momentum, and all she can do is watch as her kidnapped friend cries for help. "The deal has changed! Come back!" she bellows, "you daft piece of driftwood, take me with you."

"YOU!" The Champion stands with the help of the Storyteller to face the king making a show of indifference, "you threatened her!"

Jareth shrugs in a show of innocence, then pauses as if remembering something distant, he throw his head back in laughter.

"Asshole," she mutters at the king. "Coward!" she hollers at disappearing Old Lady Willow. Pushing the Storyteller's support aside she makes for her sword, a slight limp slowing her progress.

"Where to begin?" the king says as his laugh sobers.

This is the last thing that Freddy sees before his sight is hindered by distance, the tall famed structures of the city and the cover of night. The unreachable moon is waning, a friend, a legend and a beast lags towards her last defense. With his arms bound, Freddy cannot brush away his tears, he clutches the note anchoring his confused mind.

As the city limits approach, the trees grip slackens and changes, sitting him on a sturdy branch with green binds securing him in place. Freddy struggles again in vain. Sighing, he leans back and with care he opens the crumpled note, staring at the black scribbles, wishing he could make sense of them. He tries, pulling together what little he knows, he sees his own name and he thinks he can make out another, 'friend.' At the bottom of the page is a fine sketch of three figures huddled away from the rain under a tree.

The boy curls himself inwards, clutching the note to his chest where the wilting flower rests, and weeping as they are consumed by the mist.

Across the vast green meadow a deep scar is made, a trail of upturned earth that cuts across the road into the forest, trees bent in half and pushed aside. Freddy watches Old Lady Willow's trail of destruction, still bound tight and not entirely sure why the tree has taken him nor why it continues to carry him.

Something catches his eye and a memory stirs. The stories the Wanderer had told him about secrets whispered and sealed with mud, and there, not too far away, are Sarah's secrets buried within the willows trunk. He leans down and hugs the trunk for support. He doesn't know where he is being taken or if he will see the face of his beloved who wilts while he is gone He thinks to ease his mind, to pass the time and make the murky events of the night clearer he carefully unplugs the hole and presses his ear to it.

"My name is Sarah Williams, I was born… aboveground to Robert and Linda Williams. I have a stepmother named Karen, I have a dog called Merlin and I have a brother, Toby, who I miss dearly. And Friends, beautiful friends, I love them. I love them all. This is who I am and this is who I will be again…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are wondering: what is the oath Jareth broke? Whats up with that willow tree? peach banquet? what happened between Sarah and Jareth? What did the hunter take from Sarah? and other much unexplained things no not fear, the next chapter is where everything comes to light. I'm paranoid I'll leave something out. yikes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey,
> 
> thank you for reading and reviewing!
> 
> So here is first person perspective of Sarah talking into a tree.
> 
> What have I done?
> 
> Thank you Sylphien, you are an amazing beta!

"Goblins can't keep secrets. That's what they say, that's what he told me. He, he can keep secrets. He's good at it too, the sly devil, yet he says that it's in my best interests that I don't tell him anything. After thinking about it I can remember all of these little things, things that should mean nothing, yet, I can tell they do on some level. I agree that it's best not to tell him anything, it's an inkling that fuels this decision, only a feeling with no real evidence to support it, but I've learned to trust my instincts.

He's told me secrets. He spoke of a red ball of yarn that will always show you the right path. Then he whispered in my ear about an unguarded doorway to the world above, and during the late hours he explained the loopholes that would unbind us from this misery.

He is not what I remember him to be, yet he is exactly the same. I'm racing against the clock again, there is still a terrible fate and a challenge that seems impossible. This time he is not my enemy, as I thought he might prove to be when I stumbled upon this mess. There is something oddly comforting about having the Goblin King on your side. His desire to help me makes sense, yes, yet still, I find it surprising.

A comfort, yes, but in no sense is it reassuring.

Once he is finished with all his secrets I wonder what I should do. I ask how I should escape.

'That's entirely up to you, precious," he told me.

Asshole.

I have a feeling he wants to test me.

Well, I've got nothing to prove. By hook or by crook I'm going home, even if it means burning the entire Labyrinth to the ground.

Sadly I've got nobody to talk to. There's so much at stake with all these secrets and all my plans. I have to keep them sealed up, they turn round and round until I can't help but doubt myself. I had to share them eventually, say them aloud, if only to hear it with my own ears in the hope of making sense of it all. So I came here, to these trees. It's so peaceful here and it reminds me of the park I went to as a kid. He has brought me here in the past. He told me that this tree was tricked into the Labyrinth after the villagers became sick of being chased by it when they'd go to cast their line into the river. I saw the hole in this tree and it reminded me of a story I had once heard, although I don't remember where.

I think the Willow tree in that story once guarded a river, I'm sure this one will have no trouble in guarding my secrets. So here I am. Talking into a tree.

There is a kind of sanity in the madness here. So unlike home, still, there are things that always remain the same, like a mothers love for her son.

We were camping when I first met her, when she lured me here with lies. It was supposed to be a weekend away with friends, into the wilderness to be inspired by nature. I was awoken in the dead of night by a whisper that nobody else had heard. I shivered as I heard the wind howl and a nostalgic feeling washed over me. I exited the tent, still in my pajamas, wearing a coat and armed with only a flashlight, but there was no movement in the dark I was alone out in the cold night air.

I turned my flashlight off for a moment, I do not recall why, and there, nestled in shrubbery, was a blue light in the shape of a flame. It hovered with no base and no fuel source, moving away from me. I followed, chasing it until it dissapeared and in its place was a cloaked old woman extending her hands in a plea.

"Please," that hag had said. "The King is in peril, the kingdom will fall blah blah blah." I ate it up, she seemed so distressed, and remembering my friends and thinking of the danger I followed. Passing from my world and into this one. I was too gullible. Remembering this makes me feel ashamed. I always prided myself on my wit, yet I am still too trusting of strangers.

I was taken into a great hall, empty but for my mother's ring on display. In my excitement I forgot myself and slipped it on.

That nasty crone smiled then, throwing off her disguise as she revealed herself to be the queen, and the Goblin King's mother.

The crap she had spun to get me there, to get me to try that ring on, my ring, which they had altered with magic. I am certain that it was not impossible for somebody else to wear that ring. Yet this was apparently one of my tasks, a supposedly impossible task. So impossible that few were willing to attempt them, and all this to avoid his mother's pestering. What a baby.

One of the tasks was the ring. The perspective bride must attempt to wear the ring and if it fits she has passed the test. Although bizarre, it did not seem impossible, so I asked:

"Why did you use my ring?" And what did he say to that? Right.

"Because I knew no one else would fit it."

Asshole.

I thought the look on his face when he came into the hall to see me e standing there in my pajamas would be similar to his mother's look of triumph. However, he looked at that moment, well, mortified. He was, as ever, immaculate, strangely beautiful and untouched by the years.

Up until that point nothing had been explained to me, but it dawned on me quickly that I had been tricked.

The next task was the Labyrinth itself, which I had run all those years ago and conquered.

I never did hear what the final task was supposed to be, as the Goblin King foorbid anybody from saying it aloud.

Realising what had happened I asked to be taken home, and he hung his head, shielding his eyes from me. He told me he could not let me go. He said that by law he was obliged to marry me, and I assumed the worst, my old adversary, destroying my life under the guise of being bound by the law.

I was hauled away to wallow in my rage in despair, although I willed myself not to indulge in it. Even then I found hope and courage to deny my helplessness. I thought back to stories of women in similar positions and the shadow of a plan was formed. It was then, in the moment of my epiphany, that he came to me.

"I am obliged, yes, but you are not. If leave this Kingdom you will no longer be under my rule. I will not be compelled by law to chase you, little girl. But, Sarah, if you do stay I will be forced to drag you down that aisle."

Apparently the only consent needed was given when I had tried on that ring.

My ring.

A part of me still thinks that he was embarrassed. In this world full of stories of princes swooping down and winning their brides through heroics and trickery, instead it had been his mother who had stolen me. She had shown her love through her tenacious, controlling attempts to impose the joy of matrimony upon him, and become the wicked prince of the story. In the end he'd rather have the glory winning against her. Or me. Winning me over with his own efforts.

There was something changed in him after that, or perhaps I simply hadn't noticed it before.

We spent what time we had together, shackled. He taught me a small wealth of magic: plants that could lull a dragon to sleep. How to listen for things that are rarely heard, he told me the tale of that ball of yarn, and with each passing hour I found myself becoming more comfortable. He was not the monster of my childhood, but a man, and somehow I felt as if I'd known him like that before. Suddenly when he looked at me with indifference it was clear to me that he was anything but.

He is still an asshole.

I had learnt my lesson, that trust is too easily abused. I might have been beginning to know him better, but he was not my friend. We were all acting for our own gain, his mother was too, with her own love for family and legacy.

There will never be anybody as ridiculous as him. We don't talk much of my last 'visit' to the Labyrinth. The kidnapping, the terrorizing, the dream or the other undesirable events: there is a mutual aversion to it.

I know I will miss him a little.

It was a week or so after my incarceration that it was announced, that we would be wed on the morrow; it was then that I put my implausible plan into action. I demanded a gown like the night sky, and there in his eyes was something akin to pride. The ceremony was postponed. Next I will demand armor paler and more fearsome than the moon. While they fuss about sewing the night sky I will been sewing a garment of my own. It seems I will find my way home again thanks to these funny creatures. They are so easy to trick. I asked one for a wedding gift, a piece of hair, and with a small bribe the goblin obliged. It wasn't long before they all came skittering with chunks of hair, fur and feather pinched from all over. Nobody is paying close attention to the goblins, they never really do. They are creatures of magic with a peculiar ability to adapt, and while the Queen was away I stole into her abode and took the cloak which had given her the guise of an old crone for mine. The ball of yarn, to my dismay, was not there.

As I piece together the fur of this stolen cloak I can already see the magic fusing and transforming under my fingers. My plan is to disguise myself as a Labyrinth creature and escape its borders using the yarn, if I can get it. I have to hope my disguise will buy me enough time.

In books I have found the knowledge that would have helped me to avoid this nightmare, with all the mistakes I've made so far the least I can do is learn from them. And, oh, the things I have learned, pages of knowledge filling me with riches finer than gold. I have not wasted a moment of time in this stone prison. They say there is an island where you can call upon the dead and they will rise for the day to do your bidding. They say there are forces that precede the powers of great kings, forces that protect laws ancient and everlasting in which no creature is immune, and if they choose they may plague an offender with unbearable misfortune. Myth or not they are feared, that is why nobody makes a promise lightly here, to make an oath is to put yourself on trial with powers more formidable than that of nature.

I have to make my insurance using this, I don't know if this is true deviance and if I will be taking advantage of the unexpected kindness he is showing me, yet it is more mutually beneficial than an act kindness. It was my pity and foolish misguidance in helping a stranger that landed me here, those personal feelings of right and wrong must be abandoned if I am survive this, and to thrive in this world one has to leech and suck dry at whatever one can. My kindness was used against me and I must do the same so I can leave this world with no hesitation or loose ends.

How have I said so much yet I feel like I've said nothing? I must go now, tomorrow I will return with clearer thoughts and expel my anxiety.

Good night Lady Willow."

At this point the young musician's body began to ache, and, plugging the mud back into the hole to stop the words, he leans back to rest. He is no longer bound and the Lady Willow is clearing her way through the trees. His mind is racing, confused with knowledge that the Goblin King has tried to help Sarah go home in the past, it seems so contradictory from his actions in the stories and in the Northern City. Has he not chased her mercilessly? Has he not tried tirelessly to bind himself to her? Lady Willow pauses and twists her body, migrating the hole closer for the young man's convenience.

"Why thank you," he says nervously. The great Willow shivers slightly in response.

Freddy remembers talk of oaths and how the king has conceded that he paid penance for breaking it. He reviews the events over, remembering that the Goblin King had asked to speak with her.

Unplugging the hole, the whisper does not begin again, but continues on.

"It's beautiful, beyond all imagination, I can hardly breathe when I look at it. When it was presented to me I could not help but ache in want.

I want it.

Is it really okay for me to want such a thing? It would be like owning the heavens, something so desirable yet forbidden. I made a promise in return for it, a promise I know I can circumvent without breaking. I cannot help but relish in my own wickedness but at the same time there is a guilt that I know I should not be feeling.

My work is not yet finished so I make my second demand, armor so pale and more magnificent than that of the moon. Jareth agrees with that crocodile smile of his, he has seen the way I look at the dress, and just as I suspected he will teases me later in private:

"Ever the spoiled little princess."

There is nobody as entitled and spoiled in all the worlds than he is. He made his fortune, yes, but he has long forgotten what it means to earn something. It is not because I demand it that his family and civil servants rush to and fro to have this armor made, it is because he has expressed a desire for it to be done.

However, he's not entirely wrong, I learned long ago to let go of the material, but when I look upon my own creation, my means of escape, I feel disgust. It is so ugly, and for a moment I am transported to a younger self that dreamed of being a heroine and dancing in just such a precious gown.

The weakness is temporary, although I cannot bear my work and take my first unnecessary break. I found Didymus, posted to protecting yet another worthless pathway, and seeing his never-ending resilience and bravery I feel as if mine is restored. I admire his strength and ask if he will teach me the art of sword fighting. At first he insisted that a lady need not when she has a knight in her service, but he submitted eventually.

Restored, I make my way back to my work, the sun only just touching the horizon, and in that golden glow he approaches me in the cover of this very tree.

"Are you careful in your scheming, Sarah?" he asks, until now he has been careful in avoiding the knowledge of my plan, and I had been careful to disguise it, only asking questions about certain things when they are brought up. He has told me that he would be bound by law to, at the very least, chase me while I am still in his kingdom. I know that something has changed in him when he asks me this, and I know to be careful no matter what his intention to help.

So I say that I am.

"I suppose we shall see when the time comes." he is on edge, he stands not quite facing me, then begins to pace slowly, making his way to me, circling me just as he had once done so long ago.

"You could always tell me," he offers ever so innocently, and my refusal to it is immediate.

I do not know if he wants to intimidate me, but something in the way he speaks and the way he brushes my hair makes me suspect he wants something else as well. He is not as good as he thinks he is, in all his indifference and displays of power he still falters. Well, I felt intimidated then with him towering over me, his attention bearing down on me. This angered me, he knew it, and when he stopped in front of me he smiled down at my glare. Whatever agitation he felt was gone, and in some burst playfulness he pinched my nose, stepping out of my space he laughed throwing his head back.

It is Hoggle who has the courage to tell me, later, that Jareth is familiar with my routine and believed I had already left. I confirmed it with a wandering goblin, and judging by his tremors of fear the King had not taken well to the news.

I know he wants to do right, but he is torn and that scares me. What if pride prevents him and he decides to stop helping me? I cannot burden my friends again.

Good night, Lady Willow…

What luck! What beautiful extraordinary luck! If there is one talent I have then it is making unlikely friends, although, My Lady, she does not agree that I like her well enough to be a friend.

She spoke to me today, when I strained my ears like he taught me to I could hear her. Oh how everybody thought that she was dormant in everlasting sleep but she has been listening to me.

"Keep whispering your secrets," she has told me, "whisper them to me as you did before, as if nobody is listening," and I shall. Oh her voice strong, from this alone I can tell she is a force to be reckoned with.

It seems that I have awakened in her a desire for freedom, she cannot break through the walls built with magic and she cannot find her way. With our interests aligning we have agreed to help each other, she will protect me until I have found my way to a portal, and in exchange I will show her to freedom.

I am close now, I have tried it on and seen my new face, I frightened myself, but this is what I wanted: to repulse those who see me. Yes, I will be done soon but I am faced with temptation.

The armor, when I saw it I had to stop myself from tearing up, could something so intimidating truly belong to me? So beautiful and yet to terrifying, I almost forgot myself. When Jareth takes my hand and asks if it is to my satisfaction, with his hand pulling my chin up he searches my face, and for a moment I think that he is more beautiful than the moon and the stars and far more terrifying.

So I demand the sun.

He agrees with an unnecessary kiss to the forehead. True, I am granted many freedoms with acting passive, yet of late he has taken advantage of this. At first his touches were experimental, a playful flick of hair or fiddling with the material of my sleeve. It was kind of cute watching this great villainous king in this shy manner, so unsure and nervous. It doesn't bother me, I know it should and I think on part this annoys him. The kiss on the forehead is the boldest he has ever been, he will say it is for the public eye, but as he moves away I see the conflict on his face.

Whatever he decides I have Lady Willow on my side now.

I am so close to finishing, I know I can leave before the last gift is completed, but I want to see it. I want to cave to vanity and see the last treasure that is made in my name.

Perhaps I should, after all, I still have to make my insurance.

Good night, Lady Willow. I shall speak with you soon…

As bright as the sun and laced with gold, my last demand has been met.

He had taken me to a peach grove beforehand it was presented, it was so fragrant. I had completed my garment the night before and thought that I would spend some time with him before I leave. After all, I can hardly say goodbye to anybody, and spending my last hours with my friends would be… suspicious.

Upon our return it was brought to me. It broke my heart. Can I truly have the sun? Yes, I have decided deep down that I am taking these with me, and I know that this will be an act of folly. Yet these things of beauty cannot be ignored. I have found a way to carry them, I risked my neck to do so, I climbed the high treetops and found the egg shells of recently hatched ravens. From my reading I have learned that you can store most anything of any size in these shells and they will reseal themselves. There is lots of space in raven eggs, space for intelligence beyond his world.

He smiled at me, smiling at the sun, and I felt the guilt that I should not feel again.

"You spoil me," I said.

"All I ever want is to spoil you," he mocked me, yet his hand was in mine again. He left abruptly after and the parting felt final.

Tonight is my last night, tomorrow is the wedding and I have yet to find my insurance. I have yet to find that ball of yarn, although I have already made its replacement.

We will talk soon, my Lady, the moment of our grand escape drawn ever near…

I must leave with no regrets.

I have done wrong.

I went to him. I found him in his room. He stood by the fireplace looking into the flames. He did not hide his surprise to see me, nor that small smile he has sometimes when I call him by his name.

I approached his rigid stance and asked him. I asked him to promise to leave my friends unharmed, and I asked him to promise to let me go.

"Ah, so you are leaving."

He turned away, reverting back to nonchalance.

"What makes you think I would be bothered to chase you, little girl? You are nothing to me."

"I think you will miss me," I said, how stupid could I be? "I will miss you." Why did I have to go and say a thing like that? In the light of the flame he was so handsome and so vulnerable. There was warmth when I touched his elbow and he turned towards me. What I said was true. I will miss this peculiar man. Slowly he swooped down, his lips tasting mine. What should have been a simple kiss goodbye changed as electricity coursed through me. With his hand in my hair, the heat of his touch, the sound he made when I leaned into him and opened my mouth to his tongue… we… er… forgot ourselves.

I had known and dared not to say it, there is something akin to love in the Goblin King's heart.

He swore to me what I had asked of him.

I dare not say aloud the other things he whispered to me. Only when we lay there together did he ask me how confident I was in my escape. Being the idiot I am I said, "its going to be a piece of cake."

There was challenging glint in his eye as he hovers.

"We shall have to level the playing field then"

Asshole.

This is partly why I was late, I am sorry my Lady, I know you must thinking poorly of me but our deal still stands.

I think he did not want me to notice, I saw it though.

He turned back time to lay in my arms longer.

I feel as if I've done something terrible. I have. I have!

When he fell asleep I saw on top of his fireplace that red ball of yarn.

How easy it was to sneak out and replace it.

And now, in my skin of fur and feathers, I have escaped that prison. My friends are safe and yet I do not feel that I am leaving with no regrets. This will pass, I know.

I will see Toby again. My Dad. I will be plain old Sarah Williams again. All good endings are bittersweet. Freedom will always be more precious love.

As I sit here now, watching the Labyrinth grow smaller, a small part of me is thankful that I came here. Not just for my gifts, tucked away in raven's eggs which fills me will guilt, I feel I have grown here in some manner which I cannot say.

My lady carries me back to where I will live again. I will miss her as well.

I will think of her as my friend."

Plugging the hole, Freddy releases a shaky breath. Clenching his eyes shut changes nothing, as he again finds himself in tears again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11
> 
> Hello!
> 
> Thank you for reading and bearing with me.
> 
> This has taken me awhile and it is much longer than previous chapters even after I split it, this baby is taking longer to complete than I anticipated. Aw well.
> 
> Standing ovation to Sylphien for being the coolest friggin cat in town and editing this chapter for me.
> 
> Warning: Labyrinth Fic Clichés.
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm weak and I couldn't resist.

Once again, he presses his ear to the tree, listening to the fury that has long been silent:

"I have been too trusting. There are things I've known that I have been unable to clearly say, it burns my throat to think of them.

I shouldn't feel betrayed.

I do…"

After travelling for some time, we arrived at mossy green hills, laden with fantastical boulders which towered and twisted above us. I removed the ugly skin, hanging it on my Lady Willow's arm, and, dedicated to her promise, she insisted on waiting for the half hour I would be gone.

'If you are in need, scream,' she told me, 'I am good at following screams.'

I then rolled the enchanted yarn, asking it to take me to the door between worlds. I followed it to a grand blue stone arch, carved in the side of the hill that had only darkness within. There were strange symbols or runes etched in that doorway. andit was there that the ball stopped its trail. I felt uneasy and alone with the howl of the wind behind me, staring into that void. As I bent over to pick up the yarn, I heard it; the flutter of a bird coming to land. He was leaning, seemingly impassive, against the twisted stone, dressed finely as a groom. I was stunned, and, to my credit, wary. The awkwardness of our recent intimacy weighed heavily upon me, and before I could think to do anything else, I asked: "What are you doing here?"

He showed his anger then, his voice harshly bitter as he prowled towards me.

"You really are a cruel girl, Sarah. No farewells?"

"I didn't think we needed it," I replied. "We both knew I would leave."

"Did we?" he hissed, turning away to calm himself. He was hurt, he was confused, and I was apprehensive. I had seen the bitter cruelty of hurt men before, and he had his pride to consider. He turned swiftly, giving me a fright. Bearing down on me, he circled around, standing between me and the exit.

"I thought I could do what's right, you see, I am truly a stranger to this," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "As every wise man will tell you, you can't cling to a love that isn't returned, you should always let it go. I see now why wise men insist on these worn out sayings, because I don't want to let you go. For a moment I thought that I did not have to."

"You swore an oath," I reminded him, not liking what his moment of heartfelt truth might conclude in.

"How terribly clever of you, Sarah" he spat, "taking advantage of the lonely king."

"Oh, hardly."

"Then tell me, did you do it out of love, or was it because you saw the yarn on the mantle?"

"What does it matter now? Its not like we will see each other again."

Then and there I had a feeling he was not telling me something, it was the way he faltered and adverted his gaze. I ignored it in my impatience to go home. I missed my brother. His words are embarrassing to say now, but they have echoed in my mind for too long and I must speak them.

"It does," he had quietly insisted. "Did you not feel our bodies becoming one? Did I not put stars in your eyes? I felt you, Sarah. In my heart and in my soul there lies something stronger than the ties of marriage. Sarah, it matters."

"What do you want me to say? That I used you? That you disgust me? Or that I love you? Believe whatever eases your mind, because it does not change that I am leaving today."

"I do not want you to go."

It was the same, then, as when he had offered me my dreams last time. Edgy movements, a hollowed desperation, he was offering it to me again. Only when I'm about to leave is he truly honest. I knew that he had been thinking about it for a while. Perhaps it was out of pride, outwitting his escaping bride, a test to see if I was worthy. Maybe he really does love me in that same sick, possessive way that seems to run through his family.

I just wanted to go home. So I took his hand, ignoring his troubled expression, and I ended the conversation.

"I'm sorry. It had to end this way. Goodbye."

I pushed past him, and for a moment was relieved that he didn't stop me. Short lived my journey home was. A crystal flew past my shoulder, stopping me short. I watched helplessly as it went into the portal and the earth shook beneath. The portal collapsed in a cloud of debris.

He stood rigid in mid action, seeming shocked by his own actions, then, as our eyes met, whatever hesitation he had felt left him, and his face darkened with resolve.

Not knowing what was going to happen next, I screamed. I screamed with my eyes shut, I screamed until the breath left my lungs and I screamed with all my might. My throat still aches from it.

Catching my breath, I opened my eyes, pleased to see a stupidly stunned expression on his face. Using that moment, I fled into the cover of the dust cloud, ignoring his command to wait over the echoing groan of my lady.

Huddled in between stones, I listened to his taunts and footsteps, glad that I had the sense to pack the knife that I had swiped from the kitchen. I held it ready.

His voice carried, from where I could not tell, and the things he said made me shudder.

"Do you think you can hide from me, little girl?"

Was it a game from the beginning? Give the girl hope of freedom and then tear it away?

"I've broken my oath, Sarah, I'm not afraid of such superstition. There are very few people underground that can match my power, what can the laws of nature do to me when I can change nature by will? I'm a wicked man,  _precious_ "

He paused then.

"I have yet to break my other oath"

I peeked through a crevice and saw him summon my three friends.

I saw him turn them into stone.

At that moment, I felt ready to use that knife.

What followed was chaos. I rushed out, wanting nothing more than to slice that feral grin off his face. As I rounded on him a shadow was cast across us as my lady approached. He disarmed me with ease, my wrist caught in his grasp. He pushed me behind him as he faced the approaching Willow. Appalled at what I can only assume was an attempt to protect me from my friend, I careened into him, slamming my shoulder against his chest. He stumbled forward, but just before he could regain his balance my lady struck him across the face, and he lay motionless on the ground before her. Fearing that he would soon wake, we agreed to part ways, my lady being a more obvious target would serve as a distraction while I slip away as the unsuspecting foul beast.

We agreed to meet up in three days time at the lake she used to haunt below the eastern mountain. She told me she had a friend there who knows many things. Lady Willow no longer haunts, she protects, and a protector needs something to safeguard, so she takes my friends of stone. She travels a more indirect route now that I am not at her side, hoping to trick him. I take a route mostly through forest and mountain, where I can easily hide in my dark fur.

And so I spent the night alone. I had not a thing to eat. and I hardly felt the cold. I hardly cared that the ground was hard. I was too exhausted to think about todays turn of events. I remember, before falling asleep, that I thought that the stars seemed different here.

I was unsuspected by the soldiers he had sent to patrol the paths and roads. Goblin and other, they all sneered at me in disgust, eager to pass me by. Travellers feared me.

I didn't know if my friends where alive inside that stone. I focused instead on the hope of finding another doorway.

On the third night, I strayed far from the path, travelling uphill until I found a hot spring, and, unable to resist, I took off my skin and bathed.

There I was visited by three ravens. The very ravens hatched from the eggs I had taken the shells of to hold my dresses. They told me not to despair, that my friends were still alive. They were impressed by wit and courage and told me they could spin a spell to turn stone into flesh. The spell needed a sacrifice, however, and so I am told that three years without another calling me by name is the price I must pay. Once the spell has begun, it cannot be cast again, there is only chance. I agreed. I do not bare the blame for this, yet I must pay the price of it. It's not fair, but it's the way it is.

"There is another way," they added, after the agreement was struck. "If the Goblin King perishes by your hand, the spell will be undone."

I do not bare the blame.

If I find a doorway I am going through it. I love my friends, yes, and their current form is on his conscience, not mine.

In the morning, I saw my Lady by the lake. I was hidden in the thickets, about to call after her, when I saw something peculiar in the reflection of the water. Sneaking closer, I saw him tapping his foot impatiently.

"You forget that magic is a part of nature," my Lady says to the Goblin King. "You swore an oath. You might rebel against nature, but your magic will not defy it, you only found a loophole in putting them to sleep in stone."

"So this why I can't see her." He conjures a crystal, balancing it on his fingertips. I am relieved when it remains clear. "So this is why I can't feel her…"

"I have no doubt that this is part of your punishment. Loopholes aside, you have done a great wrong," my wise Lady replies.

"And what of your punishment? After all, you struck a king, you are truly idiotic in coming back to your home. I'd be willing to forgive you, Lady Willow, if you bring my bride back to me."

There was nothing I could do, so I did nothing. Trusting my clever Lady to take care of it herself.

"The young lady and I have parted ways, for stone is a heavy burden she cares not to carry aboveground. I was born to be a guardian, and since I've been punished for protecting this lake I have chosen these statues instead. However, you will have to turn me into stone, Goblin King, for she has named me friend. I cannot give her to you. I am trapped by my own promises to her. If you spare me, my king, I will pass a message on to her, for she will be more likely to approach me than anybody else in this world."

"For that alone I should drag you back behind the walls of the Labyrinth," he sneers.

"Do you think she'll choose us over Toby?"

To my joy he flinches at Lady Willow's question.

"Would she gamble her freedom and family so recklessly by coming to my rescue?"

"She may," he smiled. "Fine then, keep your statues. Tell Sarah that if she wishes to cure her friends she may turn herself in. Either way, I will find her. If not by magic, then by tearing this world to shreds."

I do not bare the blame. If I make it home at my friends expense can I live with myself? Sometimes I think yes, that I could rejoin my family without a care because I am not to blame. Then, I think no, I know that I cannot. I would still feel guilty because I could have saved them. Could I live with that guilt? Maybe. My resolve comes and goes.

Before he left in his owl form, he said one last thing: "If you cannot bring her to me, then at least keep her safe."

How I felt that night no longer matters.

My Lady has promised that if her life is threatened again she will leave me with my regrets.

After, she took me to her friend in the mountain, a humble giant whose greatest weapon is his brain. He cares only for secrets, for a secret has a life of its own, and he feeds on it. So when I say I cannot tell him my name, he smiles at the challenge, offering me hospitality. My ugliness does not phase him, he is pleased to have someone to share his gossip with.

"Let's make a game of it, I won't give you my name, either. Whoever figures out the others name first is the winner."

I accepted, and he made me a breakfast that I would not soon forget after days of raw pickings and scraps.

The trees here are tall and ancient, the autumn leaves cover the earth with a brilliant orange, yellow and red. Here, in this isolated beauty, I will recover. Here I will think clearly.

My Lady departs tonight, for it is too dangerous for us to travel together.

I am sure we will meet soon. Goodnight…

When did I last see you? I remember seeing you leave in the tumble of falling leaves. While you were gone I made another friend. It is a peculiar friendship, we talk of everything but ourselves, careful not to lose in our little game. He takes me further down the mountain and shows me trees that have been whispered into. There is a comfort in knowing that I'm not alone in this. He teaches me how to survive without the comforts of a home. I've taken to call him Babbler in my mind, for he loves to talk, it is clear this is the reason he lives alone.

Determined to find another doorway, or to find another cure, I took to the road again. At every check point there is a guard from the Goblin Kingdom and a wanted poster with my face on it. When I wore my tattered clothes over my fur and feathers I found that I was more approachable, more often than not I was allowed to sleep in stables.

There was a doorway by the sea in the great black cliffs, with sand that shines like coal. Babbler had told me about this one while teaching me to trap rabbits. I had impressed him with my knowledge of healing plants when he scraped his knee. I could not tell him where I had learnt this, to his great annoyance. There is nothing like seeing a giant trip.

That seaside doorway had collapsed, nothing left but rubble with runes carved into it.

A small voice stopped me from crying out in frustration.

"Well, who are you?"

At first I couldn't see her, hidden in the rubble. She poked her head up and ducked down just as quickly.

"Who are you?" I asked, eager to see the strange creature. She jumped out at the sound of my voice, the body of a bear with a pale, cracked, expressionless mask.

"I was the guardian of this door!" she cried in outrage.

"What has happened? I am a traveller seeking passage through this door."

"Ha! Its no good now, I tells ya. If you had come before the Goblin King tore it down it would still do you no good. Those looking to pass this door had to beat me in a game of chess. None have done so until that pesky Goblin King."

So it was, while his soldiers scoured the roads he was tearing down my exits.

"He has the power to do that?"

"Oh yes, yes, that wicked man collapsed it and now I am guardian of ruin and rubble. Oh, but if I bring him his bride I will no longer be stuck in this sorry state. Are you the Goblin Kings bride? You don't look much like a bride." She reeled back in disgust.

"I am nobodys bride, I am a traveller." With that, the masked bear lost interest.

It was the same with the horse-sized toad, wearing a cordobes hat in the thick swamp out west.

It was the same with so many.

I had wondered why that first doorway on that hill of boulders had no owner. I got my answer when I returned to Babbler. Some doorways belonged to kings and queens; the Goblin King had destroyed his after giving me permission to pass through it, for once it is granted it cannot be rescinded.

I just had to get permission from another sovereign.

They would not consider letting a beast through. I could not risk exposing myself.

I set my designs on a troll warlord, known for his brutality, greed and most importantly, his stupidity. On my way to the valley of the town he lords over, I met a girl, who had cast aside her collection of firewood to make angels in the snow. My fur kept me from the chill. Yet it had not protected me from the snow that had fallen that day, which clung to me, coating my head and shoulders in white.

"Your winter coat is damp," I told her when she giggled at me. "Go home or you will catch a cold."

"I don't want to," She huffed.

"A clever girl runs when she sees a creature like me."

"You're not scary. If you were you wouldn't have told me to go home, besides," her voice became grim, "we only fear the Troll here."

"You just don't want to carry the firewood all the way, do you?" I teased, not wanting to see such a sad face on a small child.

"They're heavy," she pouted.

"Then you should not collect so much. Give them here, I will help you carry them."

We passed many of the warlord's soldiers on the way, leering creatures, far more terrible than I with their crusted skin and sharp blades. They took from the people and gave nothing back. Those people with darkness under their eyes, who moved nervously to avoid the angry gaze of the soldiers.

"What a funny thing you've brought home," the girl's mother, Penelope, had said when we arrived, and not much more was said about it. The woman invited me to stay the night as thanks for bringing her daughter home.

"My husband was once the lord here," Penelope began to tell me once the girl had been put to sleep. "That was before the Troll and his army came. Now he is a prisoner, locked in a dungeon deep below. Did you come here, stranger, to vanquish this demon?"

I had gone to meet, bribe and or trick.

"Many heroes have tried before, the Troll has eaten them all. He has a gourd that sucks them in, and once they are digested he will drink them with his evening meal."

What an unhealthy habit.

I had not gone here with much of a plan. When morning came I was refused entry to the lord's estate, mocked again for my ugliness. The lord was away, deemed worthy to partake in the feast of the peaches. I was told he would return the next day, I was also told that the lord would not bother with a creature like me.

Peaches. That drugged peach that once trapped me in a dream. There was a day that he took me to the orchard, I had thought very little of it then, but there was a beautiful woman sitting in the shade who had offered me a ripe peach. Through the towns I had seen images of peaches here and there.

The deception was discovered when I asked Penelope.

Peaches of longevity granted to those deemed worthy by birth or by action. Those who eat one may take thousands of years to age.

What kind of hideous plan had the Goblin King conceived when he watched me take a bite without saying a word? To wear me down as the years passed?

I struggled to think of how to explain my long absence to my family, how could I explain myself when they were old and frail, yet I appeared to still be in my early twenties? They will be dead and gone and I will linger on alone. I do not know for sure, yet deep inside, I am certain.

In my rage I considered the ravens' second suggestion.

However, the Troll returned from the feast, ridiculed, for they would only allow him to enter if he relented his gourd. So when I went to see him he personally beat me and cast me out before I could open my mouth and introduce myself. There were terrible purple bruises down my back and legs after that. I was not prepared for such impulsive brutality. As I lay there, in the dirt, my pain was their amusement as the Troll called for a sword to be brought. I had been winded. I lay there, shivering, unable to do anything. When the Troll held the blade to my throat, I couldn't help but think that I was going to die a dogs death, as a nameless creature shriveled in the mud. I had to wonder if my family thought I had died that summers night in the woods. Were my friends angry with me? What had they said about my short, interrupted life? Did they miss me as I missed them? A hollow ache that lingered and weighed my footsteps proved that I missed them.

"What does a furry scab like you want with the great lord of this land?" the sneering Troll commanded.

I had every intention of lying. Yet found I could not.

"To pass into the Aboveworld," I told him, gasping.

He laughed. "Get me into the feast of the peaches, then perhaps I will think on it." With that, I was left there. I am not too sure how long for, only that as people passed but would not look me in the eye.

I awoke in Penelope's care, her little girl looming over me, weaving little red winter flowers into my fur.

"At least you weren't eaten," teased the little beastie as she platted my chin hairs.

I suppose she was right.

Fragarach was that swords name. It had belonged to Penelope's incarcerated husband before the Troll had stolen his rightful place on the throne, and so it is that nobody can tell a lie while it is pressed against their throat. I wanted it. As I lay there, plotting on how to repay the Troll's gracious hospitality, and on how to restore the old lord, I thought on how I could also take that sword. No, I didn't think of delivering the Troll's request.

Once healed, I said goodbye to my gracious hosts, and that night I stole into the dungeons. I hid in shadow so that only know my voice would be known when I struck a deal with the imprisoned lord. He told me that the Troll slept with the gourd hanging over his head. I replaced it with an ordinary gourd, in hopes that the Troll was as stupid as he was famed to be.

He was.

The drawing on the wanted poster featured my long hair, so I cut it, hiding it under fallen branches. I exchanged my fur with bone armor, and when dawn broke, I stood outside the Troll's gate and demanded to see the lord.

"I am a hero, come to see the Lord of the land," I had said, amused at my own words.

The Troll stormed out, saliva dripping from his mouth.

"Which hero claims to have business with I?" he asked.

"A hero cursed to be nameless. Now, if you wouldn't mind fetching the lord of this land I have business with him," I replied.

"I am lord here!"

Oh, he was getting angry.

"All I see is warts and maggots."

He unplugged the false gourd and pointed it at me.

"Eat her up! Eat her up!" he cried.

"Oh spare me, spare me," I begged, all the while clasping the real gourd, hidden behind my back. When the Troll began to shake and hit the flimsy thing, I began to laugh. The look on his face when I showed him the real gourd was priceless. It sucked him, in muffling his shrill scream.

I let the Troll free and made my request to see the lord of the land again. The prisoner was brought out; he demanded to be cut loose with the indignation that is so characteristic of the nobles I have so far witnessed. I opened the gourd again, and the troll was once again thrown into its artificial stomach.

"Your Lord has spoken," I said, threating the entrance of the gourd.

I did not intend to end the Troll's life, and knowing the longer he was in there the closer he was to deaths door, I felt a great urgency to free him. I feared the powerful weapon in my possession and longed to be rid of it. With the lord free, I went to release the Troll and claim my prize. I understand the resentment of being caged, the torture of such humiliation and the longing for things that were once freely yours. Yet as I did the lord snatched the gourd from me and shook the Troll inside until the thudding became a slushing sound. To my credit, I managed not to throw up as the Lord drank from the gourd.

No, these people were not quite as they seemed. As I stayed with them for the next couple of days I made myself scarce. I maintainedThat I was cursed to be nameless, I barely spoke a word, with the exception of asking when I would be able to pass through the portal. I had been very understanding, after all, order had yet to be fully restored. I wore their clothes and ate their food. I could not bring it upon myself to taste their wine, after seeing the colour of the Troll that had dribbled from the corners of the lord's mouth. Penelope had not recognized me as the furry traveller who had stayed with them recently. The little girl did, that clever girl, who told not a soul. I can only hope her silence on the matter continues.

So it was that I was coming down to dine when that child pulled me aside.

"There is a man here to collect your bounty," and so there was. She took me through a hidden passage, just like in old movies there was a tapestry equipped for spying in their home, and through the stitches I watched the Goblin King pace slowly before the lord and lady. He looked agitated, his mouth taut, and yet he spoke as if he did not believe the Lord's claim.

"This mysterious stranger returned your rule, yet you would turn her in? We are strangers, you owe no loyalty to me, you owe it to the girl you suspect to be my fugitive."

I hate how that ass pretends that he is on my side.

"Loyalty is nice concept, your majesty, alas we cannot afford it. The Troll's occupation has cost us dearly. If my suspicions are proven false I will apologise for wasting your time."

"Where is she?"

"She will be down soon to dine," answered Penelope, the woman who had saved me. I had little time to contemplate their betrayal. I fled, but not before stealing the blade and smashing that horrid gourd into pieces. For that detour I was almost captured, if it was not for that little girl I would have been. For out of sight she was tugging the castles bells and soon they rang and brought the whole castleinto a ruckius of life. She found me soon after and took me down into the dungeon, then deeper still until we reached a tunnel.

"Mum and I took this tunnel when the Troll and his armies came. Mum refused to leave town, she said this was her home and so we kept who we are secret."

"Are you saying you'll keep this secret?"

"Yes."

"Don't get yourself in any trouble, kid, I'll go the rest of the way alone. Thank you, you are a brave and honorable Lady."

For nights afterwards I awoke in a sweat to the sound of nonexistent bells. I had been reckless. I risked not just myself, but my friends also. I have learnt from it.

I came here to check on them, ever still, ever the weight on my conscience.

I hate them. I hate him. I hate this world. I hate that I feel this way. Spring is here; life uncurls and stretches towards the sun. Is it not the season of new hope?

Next time you see me, I will have the key to our freedom in my possession…

I dreamt of him last night. He was hunched over in the dark, his shirt torn, revealing cuts across his body. He was manic, gaunt, and covered in dirt as his fingers tore into the ground. His panting turned to wails, he shook, drawing his hands over his face and gripping his hair as he roared in pain. When he caught his breath he began to claw at the earth again. Unable to bear the sight any longer, I approached, calling his name. He didn't seem to hear me, so I gave his shoulder a quick push. He turned with a snarl, his teeth bared in fury, my wrist caught in his iron grasp, holding me in place. I remember being too scared to move, the anger leaving him as he began to recognise me. He sighed my name and the way he looked up at me gave me the shivers, making me twist and tug against his hold. Ignoring my struggle, he pulled me forward, wrapping his arms around my waist in a tight hug, resting his forehead against my stomach. My heart hammed as I pushed at his shoulders, but he pulled me closer, breathing me in, placing small kisses on my skin just as he had done on that night we spent together. An unwelcome warm spread through me, a strangled noise left me as I seized his hair and yanked his head back. He looked up at me, smiling brightly, dirt on his face and a slight blush to his cheeks.

"I've been looking for you," he said.

There are moments in dreams where you lose control and your body is yours yet its actions are not. I was boneless as he dragged me down onto his lap, shaking as he brushed his knuckles across my jaw. I melted as he dug his bloody hands into my hair and kissed me with the softest of kisses.

"There is no shame in being lonely, precious." He dipped his head, placing wet kisses from shoulder to neck, dragging his teeth against my throat.

"Nonsense," I replied, short of breath.

"I'll be there for you," he whispered against my ear. "As the world falls down."

As our lips were about to meet again I was ripped away, and he reached out and cried my name as the earth swallowed me. I fell, I fell in darkness, and below I saw him again, clawing at the dirt.

I awoke, panting, horrified and shamefully hot. This is not the first time he has been in my dream, but never has it been like this.

Maybe I am lonely? At times I forget that I am still human. At times I forget my true face.

I do not feel like myself. I have not been allowed such a luxury in a long time.

Its hard to say how I've changed or if I have changed at all. I must have, for after those long days of missing being myself I can't quite recall the shape of my nose or the colour of my eyes. When I risk a look at my reflection I don't quite recognise what I see there. It's me alright, it's just not the same girl who could make an audience cheer, who never dated seriously, who went on adventures across the sea and who'd draw doodles of strangers, giving them little stories. A girl who had a bright future.

Avoid the cities and avoid the main roads, chasing legends and stories, none of which have successfully taken me home. I come back here with a series of mad concoctions that always fails to bring them back to life. On this arduous quest there have been distractions, strange and beautiful, for which I am grateful. Hope wanes.

What work I can find was usually hard labor. Occasionally I am hired as a scare crow, sometimes to chase away wolfs and bandits. To my delight I was once paid to play a beast in a play.

One time I went to rest in a hollow tree, only to find an entrance to a stairwell that descended into the dark. I went down, curious about what opportunities lay underneath. At the bottom was a dully-lit library, shelves taller than houses, and as I explored I saw no walls, only an endless stretch of books with a staircase spiraling in the middle. I came across a cleared space in the middle, in it's very centre was what I assumed to be a pile of discarded books. At my approach, it moved, shuffled together and rose. A body made from paper and ink.

"Welcome stranger, it is far too long since I've had a visitor in my library," it said with a fluttering bow.

"It's magnificent, how many books are there?"

"Why, all of them," he answered, "old and new, fae and otherworldly, translated and reworked; every book born can be found here."

"Then, perhaps you could help me?"

I told him of my friends, turned to stone, of the three ravens and of my search of doorways. I left out the more incriminating details.

"Not all knowledge is written, many die with their secrets. There are stories of those who knew such secrets and that is all," he had said. There was nothing that could solve my circumstances, yet I still made use of the material he suggested. I came back a few times, and he seemed thankful for the company. After some time he would always get jittery, apparently his last visitor had never left, his corpse lay somewhere in the philosophy section, I believe. I was mindful not to overstay my welcome.

I came across fields and valleys, laden with flowers, and most memorably a sunflower field in which I met an old woman dressed for mourning. At first she asked if I was going to eat her, when I told her I didn't eat old ladies she asked me if I had anything spare to eat. Knowing hunger all too well, I obliged, giving her my loaf of bread. In return, she gave me a sunflower, no bigger than my hand. She told me it would point to those I love most dearly. It was shriveled in her hands and remains so in mine. I suppose I have been swindled. I kept it nonetheless.

I keep a lot of reminders of my more pleasant encounters. The cities are far less tolerable than the more rural places. They have a saying; 'a beast can't hide his hunger,' so I'm often asked, 'are you going to eat me?' After a simple reassurance, defenses are dropped, and life is resumed. They do not have such sayings in the city.

I don't know what to do. It seems wise to wait until the scandal cools before attempting to cross back, but how long will that be? He will far outlive me, well, I don't know that for sure. I could live another 60 years or I could live for thousands, if my suspicious are right, which is far too long for a person to live. Then again, I could very well die tomorrow. My efforts are in vain, all my close calls for nothing, it seems I will have to live three years friendless and scorned. The wait isn't long now, anyways.

There are times where a feel the ghost of his touch. His lips. His promises.

Chasing the spoken word is so painful and difficult, our friend in the mountain is not so tolerable towards me these days. In his frustration towards my secrets he feels I do not deserve his.

That night I thought I would sleep next to Ludo, Hoggle and Didymus. I had been taking them for granted…

My Lady had gone to chase campers down below. I went into the cave, and, before my stone friends I took off that ugly skin, laying it down to be my bed. At times I concealed Fragarach under my skin, or occasionally armor, but most of the time it made travel too taxing. I had worn them both that day, so I went to remove them.

She approached me then, for she had silently followed me in without my knowledge.

"So this is where the champion has been hiding?" she had said, and before I could say a word or draw my sword, she said it, the name I had nearly forgotten after all this time.

"Sarah Williams"

The wind rose, travelling into the cave, and somewhere I could hear the cry of the ravens.

It had been so close, just another day and we could have been together again.

I lunged at her, she who had laid waste to my sacrifice, knocking her blade to the ground. I somehow managed to pin her with my own sword to her throat. I quelled the temptation to slice though it which roared in my blood. The smug expression she wore did not help.

Her name was Miharu, hired by him to collect his 'missing possessions,' his words exactly according to her. She had staked out the Lady Willow, sure that I would return to see her.

"Do you know what you have done?" I asked, pressing the blade tightly against her skin.

"I found you, Sarah, where all others have failed," she was proud of herself, that is for sure.

"Because of you I will never see my friends again."

"I'm sure the greatest magic user known could fix that"

"If they are still alive," tears stung my eyes, and I fought against them, afraid the blurred vision would create too much of a disadvantage. "I should slice you open."

"You won't," she was sure of it too, I however, was not.

"Your last little spurt of freedom has gone on long enough, don't you think, Sarah?" I cringed at the sound of my name, even saying it now feels foreign and somehow bold. "Come back peacefully, or I will drag you back like the caged beast you have been pretending to be."

"I have a blade to your throat." I reminded her with a twist of my hand. "You should be begging for your life."

"So, no?" She was far too relaxed and for that I should have suspected something.

I leaned forward, spitting out, "never."

He had hired her. I suppose I should have known she would not have been taken down so easily, she moved so fast and she was very skilled with her hands. In a moment she had knocked me backwards and dashed towards her fallen blade. But I am also not so easily defeated. In my travels I had picked up tricks, dirty and cruel. I swung my legs, causing her to trip. She managed to land in a crouch and retrieve her blade. As she turned to face me, I threw dirt in her face, and as she howled in pain I ran past her for my pack.

What happened next was done out of instinct, perhaps, it is not something I was capable of before. My circumstances have been extraordinary for quite some time. I don't quite know how I feel, only that it is unpleasant.

I attempted to flee, and she fought me at the entrance. I could see the butt of a handle as she brought it down to my head. I refused to let it end there. I swung Fragarach, and her blade fell to the ground once more, her hand still attached to it.

"I will find you," she had roared behind me as I fled into the thickets. "I will find you and gut you!"

I don't really know why I took it. Surely she is dead by now, bled out at the foot of the cave, or maybe she had companions that found her in time? I must be feeling guilty. When I realised I had taken the hand I immediately took measures to preserve it, perhaps in hope of one day returning it. I buried the clothes drenched in her blood. They were little more than rags, anyway.

I am sure if she is alive that she no longer cares for my bounty, she would rather see me dead than married into royalty.

I do not know for sure if my friends are still living, but I now feel like they have passed for I no longer have a way of curing them.

Lady Willow tells me she will stay by that cave. I want nothing more than to sleep.

I cannot.

I have to leave this place…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa talk about a clingy one nighter…
> 
> The references in this chapter includes:
> 
> Journey to the West translated by Anthony C. Yu, here I borrowed the Chinese mythology surrounding the divine and peaches of immortality. I will also include 'Monkey' the televised version of Journey to the West, I haven't read much of the book yet but I loved the series as a kid. The gourd was taken from an episode.
> 
> Library of Babel by Jorge Luis Borges
> 
> Episodes ' The Heartless Giant,' 'The three Ravens,' 'Sapsorrow' and 'The Soldier and Death' or Jim Henson's 'The Storyteller'
> 
> Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing.
> 
> I mentioned the possibility of cliches in the previous chapter. Well, the warning applies more heavily on this one.
> 
> Originally this chapter was part of chapter 11.
> 
> Sacrifice my all my goats in thank to Sylphien for giving this chapter the make over of a lifetime. I don't any have goats sadly.
> 
> Second last chapter folks
> 
> enjoy

 

* * *

Chapter 12

It has been too long.

I had been angry that my friends had been taken from Lady Willow's projection, displayed in the Northern city. I did not blame My Lady, there was the huntress to blame for that. Still, I wanted to keep my distance after such a close call.

Much has changed.

Through the pain of losing my friends I was dealt a bigger blow. It cuts to the bone and it tears all that I am to shreds.

I found myself once again in that underground library, this time looking for distraction rather than hope. There, I was once again reminded of that legend island that raises the dead for a day to work in the mines.

It was difficult to find that island, not many where willing to take me there. My ugliness aside, people feared that island. I was struck with rare luck of finding residents who were returning to the island that very day. Every month a shipment of precious stones will leave that island.

When we arrived on the island an old man with a small, kind smile approached me with the customary: "stranger, are you going to eat me?" Other than this exception he didn't ask any other questions of me. He invited me to stay in his comfortable home, with the condition that I helped him with the odd jobs that were too taxing for his back. Nobody came to the island, and only once a month did the islanders leave with their shipment. When I removed my skin nobody thought it strange.

"We get your sort every now and then," the old man had said. He often answered questions I had not spoken aloud. I didn't say much. I helped to earn my stay, I drank with them, that seemed to be enough. I felt safe there, at times somebody would be telling me a story that would strike a chord in my memory. I wanted to tell them about the time that Toby had thought he was a cat, yet the words got stuck in my throat, and I'm embarrassed for even considering it now. Being friendless for so long has changed me. I knew I could not stay there forever. On that island, more beautiful than any other, the idea of spending the rest of my days in such easy warmth was not unpleasant. My time there did ease the damage done to me.

Each person on that island could summon one spirit. When dawn breaks the whole island descends to the beach and there pale bodies rise from the waves, sometimes with a sigh and sometimes with a smile. All day they work in the mines which are deep within the island, where it is too toxic for the living to go. When the sun begins to set those spirits make their way back to the shore, returning to wherever their souls go to rest.

On the dawn of my first day there the old man taught me how to summon the dead.

I called for Ludo, Didymus, and Hoggle, but none of them came. The old man observed my technique, telling me it was correct.

"Your friends must not have passed" he concluded.

With this news I felt relief and a new kind of exhaustion. I had yet to secure my passage home, I was thwarted with obstacles. The physical doors were heavily guarded with forces beyond my capabilities, and none were willing to take me in fear of invoking the wrath of he who seeks me. A part of me was annoyed by it.

So I called for my grandmother who had died when I was young. She was the kind of woman who smoked too much and did nothing but complain. During her divorce she was always there, pulling me away from the fighting to take me out for ice cream.

She did not recognise me until I called to her. At first she was happy to see me grown, she must have recognised something in my eyes, looking closely at me she became grim.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, giving me a shock by placing a cold hand to my cheek.

I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, I told her I was a little lost. It had felt cruel to awaken her. I was tempted to do so again on a few occasions after she returned to the sea.

"I'm sorry for everything you have lost" was the last thing she said to me on that day. I did not fully understand what she meant until later.

The days passed kindly in the summer heat. Pale sand, clear ocean, buried further inland was a waterfall, covered with moss and ferns. There the islanders would go to swim and play when the day's work was done.

They do not swim in the ocean.

I did not ask why. I did not want to spoil my peace there. After seeing corpses rise there day after day I had no urge to swim there myself.

One day there was another visitor to the island, a woman draped in black who called for her dead husband in tears. He rose, clad in heavy armor, and upon seeing his wife ran to embrace her. At sunset they walked hand in hand into the ocean. I begged her not to go, she hardly noticed me, smiling at her husband as the waves washed over her. The residents paid no mind. The next day the husband and wife where called to work in the mines.

I called many people in my time there to see what wisdom I could take, names I had heard by ear or from the pages of history.

I raised the great sorceress Circe, known for turning men into animals. She made my options clear. There is a cabin deep in the woods where a powerful and temperamental witch lives. She trades in magic, often if she feels she has been insulted or if greed takes her she will cast a spell, making the trader forget whom they are and where they have been.

"Make a trade if you must, but you are better off killing her. Her blood will undo any spell."

The other option she suggested was stealing one of  _his_  crystal balls.

I raised Finette, who overcome hardship with wit and violence.

"Idleness is the mother of all vice," she told me, "and distrust is the mother of all security."

She asked if she could see my dresses, so I led her back to my room. There, as I pulled them out of my pack, she spoke again. "You need a change in fortune, child."

She picked up my dried sunflower and asked me if I knew what it was.

"The person who gave it to me told me it would lead me back to the ones I love." I said, " but it doesn't work."

"And who is it that you love?"

I told her, not feeling the same embarrassment and fear I had felt before when talking about myself. In that moment she decided not to tell me. We spoke at length, and she advised me that if I should visit the witch Circe had spoken of I should rescue her prisoner.

"A witch like that will always have a handsome honest prince as a prisoner."

Before she returned, she spoke to the old man. On the dawn of the next day he told me to bring my withered flower to the shore. The islanders gathered and he called the name of my brother. Another man called the name of my father, and yet another the name of my stepmother.

I was surprised by how old they looked before I really understood what their appearance meant. Dad's hair had turned grey, Toby was no longer the child he had been when I had first descended into this nightmare.

That was why the flower failed to bloom.

My family embraced on the shore, and through my tears I could hardly speak. I remember apologising over and over.

"We looked everywhere for you," said Karen.

"We couldn't find you" my Dad told me.

"Where did you go?" asked Toby, "we missed you."

"I've been stuck" I replied, "I've been lost. I've been trying so hard to come home."

"I'm sorry," my dad hugged me and I was a child again, realising that my mum was going to move away. "We won't there when you get back."

"I'm sorry, Sarah." Karen stroked my hair, just like she used to when the world was too much for me or when some boy had broken my heart. "Sorry that we should meet again like this, every day we prayed for your return."

Toby took my hand, reminding me of his first day of school when he wouldn't let go so I'd had to stay with him for the first hour of his class. "You wanted to buy me my first drink when I came of age. I'm sorry, I didn't wait for you."

"How long has it been?" His hand was bigger than mine then, and it was I who couldn't let go.

"Years, Sarah," he answered, "a little over a decade."

How can that be? Had it not been near four years? It had not worked that way last time, why, hardly any time had passed when I returned. Had he changed time then? Had he done it now so that I would have nothing left? Years. Years I could have spent building a life, years I could have spent with them before they left. Years wasted because of a weak heart. I should have killed that pathetic man. I have spent all this time pining and now everything is gone. There was nothing left to hope for, only a wish to join them at dusk.

"You haven't aged a day," Karen noticed.

"Please don't say that."

Such a cruel reminder. I hadn't cried like that in an age, I'd been so hell-bent on being strong and moving forward

The day passed and we were a family again. They had died together in an accident, a rainy night and an oncoming truck. My little Toby had gotten married not long after high school with his girlfriend Erika. After an unexpected pregnancy they had named their little girl Sarah.

"Take care of them, won't you?" he asked me. I wasn't certain I could.

My happiness was cut short as I watched them return back to the ocean.

"Don't leave me alone," I cried. I wanted to join them. Only the memory of the widow returning to work in the mines with her husband stopped me. I wanted to live. I want to live. This world is beautiful, but I cannot live here while I am a fugitive.

"Live well, Sarah." Were dads parting words.

The old man had done what Finette had instructed, she was under the impression that I would not have believed her. She was right. It does not ease the burn of hatred I feel when I think of her. I know it is misdirected, I know who has truly wronged me and not a day goes by that I do not fantasize his gruesome death by my hands. I've given it serious thought, at times it feels absurd, at others it feels like a very real option. Especially when I feel the ghost of his touch, when I awake with an unbearable ache or think that I may never find my freedom again.

I left that island with the next shipment of stones, truly I was unable to stay there any longer. If I had called them again I was sure I wouldn't have had the strength to say goodbye once more.

My wanted posters have been covered and the world has forgotten Sarah Williams. In the world above I am also a distant memory, friends have no doubt moved on, taken from life what was not available to me. It seems I will have a warm welcome in the world below.

I suppose I still have you, the listening willow tree which has returned to haunt this beautiful lake…

Today I went to the witch's cabin as myself, wearing a charm I had traded from a stingy dwarf long ago in fear that he would somehow tamper with my memory again. Just as Finette had told me there was a man chained outside, dirty and his eyes dull like mine had become. We made a trade, hope for hope, I had been uncertain about killing the witch, but after seeing that beaten king I became determined. I showed the Northern King the head of the witch and he lit up, he was free to live again, and soon it would be my turn. King Ersa will keep his promise. He will, for he is grateful. His kingdom is rich and he knows to fear magic.

I will go into the city tonight, I will claim my prize. I will free my friends and live again in the world above.

If I do not return by midnight of the second night My Lady will come and fulfil her promise.

It is now or never. Wish me luck…

Things have gone awry, however, not all is lost.

I called myself wanderer, for a traveler has a home to return to. It has been too long since anybody has called me 'friend.' They did not shudder, but invited me in and shared their companionship with me.

The storyteller is friendly enough, however, there is a greed and excitement in his eye that tells me he would have no qualms in letting something unfortunate play out. He observes because he is not part of the story. He has an eye for uncovering the truth. Again I am, if anything, highly suspicious of people. The young musician I cannot find suspicious.

When I was sure they were asleep I snuck out. First I removed my beastly head to take off the jewels I had worn to the ball and could not remove in my hasty escape. While I was doing this Freddy stirred, sitting up and mumbling something unintelligible. I told him to go back to sleep and, placing lavender under his nose, he obliged. I doubt he will remember it in the morning.

Well, my Lady, the day's events have all gone wrong. He has appeared to ruin it all again. Before I could end my quest and free my friends he has undone his curse, making my crime unnecessary. I had my suspicions on the road, a beggar riding backwards on his horse. I felt a shiver on seeing him approach, and I suppose the others didn't notice, or else they too would have sunk into the shadows. In earlier times I would have backed out, waited until the days of celebration were over. But perhaps the beggar was only a beggar, and it was with this reassurance that I pulled out the night sky and felt it against my skin for the first time. This is my last gamble, all or nothing. I cannot survive more waiting, more disappointment.

He was at the festivities when he had not attended anything social in years. I was prepared, in case something this dramatic should occur. It was the first time we had truly laid eyes on each other since the day he broke his promise. He seemed different. I cannot say in what manner exactly, only that he seemed less threatening and, for a moment, I remembered he was once my friend and lover. In spite of everything I have not been touched in a long time. I had felt unloved. I feel unloved, and the last time I felt loved was in his arms. The moment passed and I could not bear to look at him. It seems that he could not bear to look away. Nobody had looked at me in that way for a long time. There were many eyes on me, I felt them all. Until my encounter with the storyteller it did not really resonate that I was also a part of a legend. I had heard people speak of my conquest; I had disregarded it as a kind of gossip, along the lines of 'did you hear? The Goblin King got his ass kicked by a teen girl.'

I found myself in a moment of denial, thinking that surely any interest he had once had must have shrunk away. I was unsure, I was determined that all unresolved conflict would remain so.

For the first time I missed my ugly fur. I hated it for so long but at some point I had no longer felt the shame of wearing it. I felt powerful and secure. Without it I feel bare. Then I realised that in that moment I was the infinite night sky. I was sublime.

I saw the storyteller there. I was careful not to meet his keen eye, for he would no doubt notice my recognition reflected within. To my amusement he later confessed to suspecting that beggar to be myself, Sarah, the Champion of the Labyrinth and its fugitive. Here my suspicions were confirmed, the man riding the horse backwards had removed my curse, and there is only one man who can do such a thing.

Unresolved conflict. I was sure I could remain cool. How could I? Years of culminating resentment, of fearing my own name and face. I do not bare the blame for this nightmare. I blame him.

One moment I was dancing with the Northern King, then the next he had pulled me to him. I wondered if his sentiments had changed after all that time, I doubted he had spent it all looking for me in his fury? Vengeance? I hardly know anymore. Surely love cannot inspire such cruelty, there is something more blinding at play here and I can hardly take the tie to care. The sheer audacity he has when he speak to me boils my blood. I tried to keep my head cool to end the dance to slip away with my trophy from the Northern King, kept secret. Oh, but the things he said to me.

"And what trickery are you planning this evening, Sarah?" When I didn't reply he continued with misplaced tenderness. "I've missed you, you have been well, I trust?"

I gave him a look that expressed just how well I had been. He could have at least had the decency to look ashamed.

"I have been well too." As if he could claim to have suffered. "Whatever your designs on this kingdom, there is something you must know about your family aboveground."

Oh, if I had brought that sword and hidden it under my dress. Oh, if I had kept that gourd.

"I'm not interested in anything you might have to say to me, once I am home let us live our lives separately and then die."

The music was soft, yet he pulled me forward as if to tell me a secret.

"Are you lonely yet?"

Had we shared that dream? What about the other dreams? Dreams where we waltz through crystal caves. We were lovers under the stars and comrades in battle. I pulled way, I turned to my onlookers and showed them the true scorn of a girl turned legend, and for a fleeting moment, I felt satisfaction upon seeing their faces shocked dumb.

"This is no crystal ballroom, but I suppose I can still break your head." Yes, I believe I had said something along those lines.

In my explosion I demanded what was owed from King Ersa. He gave it to me, my permission to go aboveground.

The storyteller lit up with excitement at that moment, and I suppose I was angry with him too. I am no friend to him, only a story. His version of the incident is a touch dramatized, not that I mind or care about his embellishments. One is allowed such license when telling a story.

After my escape from the celebrations I found my statue friends were not where they should have been. I panicked, thinking that if I looked for them I would miss my opportunity to pass through the door. There is something horrid about that mist, ancient and twisted, I did not have the courage to enter it. I am truly impressed that My Lady made it through. In my confusion I remembered the storyteller and set out to find him, certain he could not resist blabbering about the turn of events. In my search I heard the song of the fiddle, a song that played like my own for my heart sang along. I felt I had known it, before time itself. There he was, a friend who understood me, without knowing my true name or face. There I met another friendly face, Una. She is so hard working and clever, I cannot help but admire her.

After listening to the storyteller I remembered the things that I had not quite taken note of in my rage. Yes, the Goblin King had mentioned something about talking. I had doubted the sincerity of that. I do not care if he meant to tell me more than that my family will not be there to welcome me home. I do not want to hear what he has to say.

I did not know if Lady Willow would be here, I came nonetheless, and now we must 'plan a plan and scheme a scheme,' or so they say.

My Lady will take me through the mist, or perhaps if My Lady leaves the king will send the mist away and as they chase her I will head into the mountains. I hear footsteps approach, I have been here for too long. Let's make a deal, carry me through the mist and your oath is fulfilled. I will see you tomorrow night.

The Willow tree jerks to a halt. Freddy does not move from his post, his ear glued to the hole, waiting for the rest. Only silence follows. Seeing a road below, he climbs down with no protest from Lady Willow. He watches as her roots sink, her helpless struggle becomes futile as her branches stiffen in place. Freddy wonders if it is because he has released the secrets within or if it is because the Lady had carried him instead of Sarah, attempting to uphold her deal in escaping the danger of the Goblin King. The Willow has failed to lead Sarah to freedom, and now her freedom is taken? He can't figure it out what has taken place as she stills, solid as any normal tree. On foot he follows the road home, to his sweetheart.

* * *

Well damn. Somebody give that girl a hug.

Sorry for the corny and sad times

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Stardust
> 
> The Odyssey
> 
> Peau d'ane (donkey skin)
> 
> Library of babel
> 
> Storyteller
> 
> The Discreet Princess.
> 
> Gulliver's Travels
> 
> I've run out of time and I can't really do the references nicely. If I don't post now I won't get a chance until late next week and I am impatient.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> I've had a wonderful time doing this, thank you all for being amazing and supportive. Thanks for sticking with me until the end.
> 
> If you feel inclined tell me something you like in this fic and something you are not awfully fond of (I'm a big girl I can take it)
> 
> Also let me know if you are interested in a sequel although I will probably write it regardless if you want it or not.
> 
> Feel free to tell me off if you pick a good ol fashioned plot hole or, like, if you ain't keen on the ending. Sorry in advance if it is a bit of a let down.
> 
> but sequel...?
> 
> Give all your worldly processions to Sylphien for being for coolest goddamn kid in town and helping me with this mess.

Chapter 13

So sweet is the sight of a sweetheart that it is like to cure the direst of illnesses. And so it was with Freddy's own in this case. She was sick, but not dying, and the sight of her loved one brought life back into her cheeks. Come spring they were married.

They gifted away the sunflower, knowing they would never be apart again.

No wedding is complete without entertainment, and when the day arrived the happy couple were delighted to know that a Storyteller had come to their village especially for the occasion.

"Spring is the season for new hope and new life so we wanted to be married in Spring," Freddy told his guests. Soon the celebrations had died down, the intoxicated wedding party members lingering and ignoring the pleas of Freddy's father in-law to leave, or snoring under tables or by the fireplace as the groom eagerly awaited a tale from his most welcome of guests. The Storyteller had exhausted them all with tales that had brought tears of sadness and tears of joy to their eyes. The bride had gone to rest for the night while the two friends were wide awake, eager since the moment they had reunited to finish the tale they had first stumbled upon on that cold winters night.

"It's your wedding night young friend, such things can wait 'til morning," says the Storyteller.

"My sweetheart will not wake 'til morning light, even if the world was in flames. Besides, we have had our wedding night many a times."

"Oh hush," The Storyteller waves Freddy's remark away.

"Also, you have to leave early in the morning."

"I am sorry young friend, it took me an age to find your village, truly a place unseen by the world."

"I told you that you would not know it."

"That is fortunate, young friend, for it is best that you remain unseen, therefore it is best that you stay here with your lovely."

"I wouldn't dream of leaving her again."

"Tell me, young friend, how did you return to your sweetheart?"

"I was carried by that awful plant until the sun rose, set, and rose again. Then, by the road, its roots burrowed deep into the ground and it moved no more. Whatever made the willow thrash and throttle is gone now, and with the gift from our mutual friend I have found my way home again."

"You've been practicing your music."

"I thought it was time to learn another instrument. But please, put me at ease for I have worried all this while. What happened that night? After I left what came about? I see that you are safe, but what of her? What of Sarah?"

"Ah, truly I wish I had made it earlier. I know I will regret telling you such news on the day of your happy wedding, but I suspect you will want to hear it anyway."

"All too true."

"There is a saying, you may know it, that a beast cannot hide his hunger."

"Yes," answers Freddy, "we have such sayings here."

"Yes, good, very well. A good saying it is, very true and very wise.

I shall start then from when we watched you being swept away past the city limits. Remember that wretched chill on that terrible night, a young woman wearing lunar armor to inspire both awe and terror? Wounded she is, caught, cornered and trapped, close with her sword in her hand, she can smell her prize. She is starved for it, desperate, and before her the Goblin King stands in her way…

"Where should I begin, Sarah?" The Goblin King's smile had faded and he looked at her with a hunger of his own.

Her laugh was hollow, cunning, she is quick on her feet.

"You wanted to talk, Goblin King, well, you certainly have my attention now."

"Indeed I do, but where to begin? I've been gone a year, a year without comfort and without my name. I was pitied and humiliated as the beggar fool, riding backwards on a horse whose master was fate only. Fate has now seen it fit to forgive me for it has led me back to you. What I can undo I have. I do not expect you to forgive me."

"And I shall not."

"On this night I wanted to speak to you before you leave."

"You would let me leave?"

"Yes,  _precious_ , for a year I have reflected and seen my torment in its raw truths, in that suffering an answer came. I will let you go so that you and I may breath the air again."

"Words, words, words, you are full of pretty words and deceitful actions." Sarah stood strong, she spoke as if she were the King and he a beggar. "Do you want me?"

"Yes," he answered. "You have suffered, I am not blind to that, and for it you are stronger, wiser and more fearsome to behold. But you are still the same Sarah who won back her baby brother, for I still find myself wanting you, fur and all."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. Still, one cannot help but think that such words have had an effect. After all, she has been Wanderer and not Sarah for some time, and Wanderer is a beast. The world has no love for beasts.

"Whatever your intentions you are a slave to your desires," she accused. "That is what you have always acted on and that is what I trust. Yet, you have me cornered, what use is there for you to lie? What trick have you laid before me? Here," she flashed her blade, "do you know its name?"

"I know its legend, the truth telling sword you stole from the far away lord."

"I took my compensation."

"Without consent."

"Would a good and fair King consent to having his honesty tested?" Her patience waned, if the Goblin King offered her freedom, false or not, she would take advantage of it. But if he is offering her freedom then surely there is a catch, something she has missed in all her planning.

His candid glare brought a sweet smile to her face; with a sigh he raised his hands in defeat. Sarah tilted her blade, frozen mid-step as the Goblin King leisurely paced towards her. He lifted the blade to his throat with a gloved hand, looking at her with years of longing, happy to be close to her once again.

"If you want honesty I am half tempted to drag you to the altar and consummate our marriage on the aisle."

When he pulled his hand back, the fugitive bride adjusted the angle so that with one swift jerk she could cut his throat open and bathe in his blood.

"Ah, so dramatic."

"If I turn away now you would stop me."

"Yes."

"Ha!"

"Because,  _precious_ , there is something you must know before your return. Your family-"

"Yes," she interrupted, "I know, they won't be there."

He paused, troubled and troubled again. "And still you'll go?"

"Yes."

"That day in the orchard-"

"So it is true then. I will live longer than most."

"Generations will pass before you'll see your first wrinkle, you'll be alone up there, and if you do find company it will not be for long. You have been betrayed, hunted and made an outcast here. Perhaps the above world must seem like freedom to you, that if you make it there your suffering will somehow end. It will not. The world has gone and changed on you, you will find yourself more isolated. I am not going to chase you, little girl, I am going to wait for you here, and when you cannot bear it any longer you may return to me. You may blame me for this, for I am to blame, you may hate me, and I have been hateful. I am all you have, Sarah, you may not want me but I will be there for you."

There was a tear on her cheek, then another and another, she wiped them away and steeled herself, her breath shuddering.

There was a moment of hesitation, the blade pressed firmly against his ivy skin pricked at small droplets of blood as her grip shook.

"Do you honestly think I would choose you simply because I have nobody else?

He didn't answer.

"I should slit your throat," she hissed.

"You could try," his expression was stony.

"Why did you have to go and do a thing like that? Back then, why did you let me eat it? Why would you give me false hope?"

"Oh? And what of the false hope you gave me?"

"That hardly compares, I think. I made no promises, don't blame me for your assumptions on what we were."

"My punishment has rewarded me with the clarity of my shortcomings. You may detest me, but I will catch you when you fall, shelter you when you cannot bear the rage of the storm any longer, and I will wait for you."

"You closed the city off to tell me this?"

"I have done worse. I'm sure you've seen it, the displaced souls, the crumbled doorways, cities turned inside out and towns trampled. War has its collateral as does peace. I would burn this city to the ground to make my peace with you."

"You think you've been absolved?"

"I am still wicked, Sarah, only now I am unshackled."

"You're mad." She said. Yet in that moment, in the midst of her own misery, she spared some of it for his sake.

"Perhaps," his hand covered hers at the hilt of the sword, his touch softer than silk as he brushed across her knuckles and continued down to her wrist. "I just want to spoil you."

She jerked away the blade, sheathing it. The Goblin King remained still as she backed away, but ever watchful. His eye caught the smallest twitch and counted every tear.

"You survived your punishment but your trial is not over, the true test is not repeating your crime, so far you are failing spectacularly."

"The mist will go at my command."

"And I will go at mine."

Bells toll and evenings end, the Champion turned to leave. She was hasty, but she did not run. Her limp had lessoned, her walk was confident, but her hand readily gripped the hilt of the truth telling sword. There were no farewells.

"I shall see you soon," he called after her.

"You won't," she answered, and then she was gone into the night, out of sight yet heavy in his mind…"

The Storyteller looks up at Freddy with a hard expression.

"Tell me young friend, how did you feel returning to your sweetheart after so long?"

"It was a happiness unlike any other. How strange it is when you are so full of joy you can only feel lighter. I was so worried before, I thought for sure that she was at deaths door. When I arrived at her bedside and declared my devotion to her she began to recover immediately, for her heart had been heavy while I was gone. So heavy she could barely lift herself from the bed.

"She is under your spell, that one, and I can certainly see why. Your birdsong could charm the skin off a beast."

The young musician flinches, unsure of the meaning behind the Storyteller's words.

"Remember, young friend, how the sun seems to shine. How the birds sing and how sweet life tastes when your beloved holds your hand, and when she returns all that loveliness until it blooms in your heart and brings a blush to your cheek. This story is not a love story, yes, he loves her, I could see it in the way it crushes him to watch her leave. In the glittering shine in his eye when he sees her wearing the gown he had made to show the world that the King would command the heavens for his Queen. Yet it is not the kind love that one should keep, just as one should cut away a noxious festering sore. That's what it is, yet, it is divine ecstasy and one does not choose to be hungry, one eats or suffers. Right to left, dark to light, there was a time when the Goblin King and the Champion belonged together. That time has passed. Imagine that moment in which you saw your lovely again and tell me if you think the Goblin King felt the same way when he saw her again."

"I don't know" Freddy says, "yes and no."

"Indeed. Yes and no."

"After she left the Goblin King stood alone in that square, staring at where she had been as if he was trying to bend his sight to see her again. He had the stillness of a mountain, one that has a liquid fire that purges the earth sealed within him. That great King sighed, for on our meeting I was remembered, and he was not quite alone. He faced me, the Storyteller, who had been left behind and ignored.

"How long has it been?" I asked him, eager to break the tension between us. "How long since you last saw her?" Though perhaps this question only forced further tension.

"Too long since we've laid eyes on each other, exchanged words…" he said, looking down at his hand and tracing the ghost of her skin against his with his thumb. "-Since we last touched," he finished. "In total four years since she first escaped my grasp, chasing a ball of yarn to leave me behind."

He beckoned me to follow him, and, sensing the story was not quite over, I followed. He kept his word, that terrible, swirling white wall of mist cleared, thinning as the wind rose and carried it away.

He spoke then with an honesty I did not anticipate.

"I have seen her in dreams," he confessed. "Whether strangers, friends or lovers it is not unheard of that two people can share a dream. Sometimes I feel her watching me, and sometimes I am watching her. There are times when we both spy on each other in brief, shy glances. There are dreams, old man, that would make your mother blush. Perhaps it is the work of a longing heart, I suspect it is not. Tell me, Storyteller, do you know some of my other names?"

"Master of Dreams," I replied dutifully, knowing it was the answer he was looking for.

"There is always a heavy cost in bringing your dreams to fruition, I want my dreams and I will pay for it, whatever it takes. Even if I only get a piece of it."

As I followed I didn't know where we were going, and truthfully I wasn't too sure that the Goblin King wanted me alive or well. He wanted to tell his story, I'm certain of that. Still, I've been telling stories since before he was born, and a burden lightens once it's been spoken aloud.

"Did you ever come close to finding her during her exile?" I asked, itching to have my own curiosity sated.

"On a few occasions, and always I'd just missed her. I suspect she doesn't know the full extent of the terror I raised to get the common folk motivated to my cause, it is clear to me now that with such a beastly appearance… even so, she must have been truly isolated. For a long while I couldn't fathom how I was losing, my magic complying with my oath aside, it wasn't until my mother discovered that her enchanted cloak had been misplaced that I changed my tactics. I sent rogues, mercenaries and hunters, clever and ruthless. All the while I was haunted, tittering on madness, my obsession malignant and her absence an acute pain."

He paused. We had approached the edge of the city and he cast his eye towards the mountain that shadowed it. It was the very mountain that Sarah climbed to find freedom as we spoke, her heavy armor cast aside as she followed the trail of the red yarn in a dress more dazzling and brilliant than the sun.

"I saw in me the cruelty and sickness that had once plagued my father long ago." His voice changed, he was rushed and unsure, he was pained, and, oh folly, gnawing doubt had crept into him.

"It seems that I had more healthy love and reason when I was heartless. Then, when the boy, Toby, passed I stopped thinking of my own heart and with my passion sobered I underwent the trial. It seems I have yet to face my true test, the feeling when I see her, when I touch her, it is truly unbearable, yet I want it over and over again."

We began to travel toward the mountain, occasionally silent when his thoughts transfixed him. I chose my words carefully, for before me was not a King, but a man torn within. Such men are too rash to upset.

Down at the foot of the mountain, placed by a thin, bending tree, the armor like bone caught the light of the moon. He knelt, conducting a tentative examination, tracing its edges and feeling the smooth surface.

"It's still warm," he remarked, drawing the torso piece to his lips in a gentle kiss.

"For this she promised to be my champion, to take my hand. To wear my ring and to fight for me."

The Goblin King closed his eyes as if savoring the memory.

"What I would do to kiss those lips again."

"What was your oath to her?" I prodded.

"Ah, that, never make promises in the throes of ecstasy, Storyteller. She used me… I let her, and for what? So I wouldn't harm her little friends? It hadn't occurred to me to do so until she brought it up. I gave her what she wanted for the feel of her around me, for the sound of my name cried on her lips and for the taste of her. I promised I would let her go, but how could I after that? How cruel she is."

He paced, ruminating, he battled with himself.

"Seeing her again has stirred me, I have been waiting for her," he said finally. "How much longer will I have to wait?"

"I do not know," I answered. "There is no way of knowing."

"No way of knowing? I have been waiting for her since before she was born, I do see that now. There is destiny at play, and she is right before me but I am passively waiting for her to come to me when I could…"

He turned towards the mountain.

"My mind is not as clear as it was when I first entered this city, however, it is apparent to me now that we are not meant to be apart."

The sound of his voice was unearthly, fiercer than a dragons roar as it shook the earth and the trees moaned in protest. Never in all my travels will I ever again see a power like that. Suddenly, he threw a crystal, and, like lightning, it cracked against the mountain.

When it was over his crazed smile faltered. Something shook his body.

"Sarah!" he cried, charging frantically up that mountain like a man possessed. He tripped, branches whipped at him as he stumbled forward, calling her name over and over.

I struggled to keep up. I'm energetic for a man of my age, but my legs aren't what they used to be. When I did draw equal with him what I saw would haunt me for the rest of my days.

The clearing of that small cliff in the mountain had collapsed, and at the foot of the rubble knelt the Goblin King. He clawed at the debris, tossing away rocks and digging, relentless even when his hands bled. He called her name like a lost child crying for his mother. There, in the wreckage of the doorway between worlds, he found a golden slipper with blood on the sole."

Freddy gasps. "Please, friend, tell me, is she dead?" he asks, unable to withhold his concern from interrupting the story.

"I don't know," the Storyteller answers. "Perhaps her shoe slipped as she ran into the doorway and made it to the other side, or perhaps not. All I can say is that either way she is free of him now.

"After that I returned to the city, alerting the king's guard of what we had found. In the days that followed they cleared away the rubble, eventually finding it was too solid and compressed to move. In what they could remove they found a small torn piece of that dazzling fabric. It took three days and nights, yet all the while he sat there, unmoving.

I suppose he is still there, waiting."

Silence fell upon the pair.

Disappointment. Anger.

"That's not fair," the musician sighs.

"Yes, I am sorry friend. I've told to you the truth of that night, for others I will give a more satisfying ending, the possibilities are endless. Lovers untied, villains slain, curses broken, good behavior rewarded and evil doers punished."

Excitement begins to show through his sober tone, hope for rekindling a love of stories.

"Sir, I hardly think we can call it a story now?" says Freddy.

"It is still a story, we may know its truth but it is still a story. It will change from town to town as I change it to suit my audience. Only it is not complete yet, did you see it, friend? The hole in the willow tree where her secrets were spoken?"

"No, I did not," replied Freddy after a moment's consideration. The Storyteller does not appear convinced. "She has left me a letter which I have not been able to read. Would you would be so kind now, friend?"

"It would be my pleasure." The glint in the Storyteller's eyes returns as he takes it in hand.

" _Dear Freddy,_

_I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you and I am thankful that you have called me friend, it is the name I have missed the most, aside from sister. There are friends that are not worth keeping and perhaps I am one of those, for I have used you to draw attention as I escape back to my home. I can see you have a kind heart, if I asked I am sure you would have helped me, but doing so would have put you in danger._

_If all goes to plan somebody will read this when you are home, hopefully your beloved has recovered and is well, and if all goes to plan you will not know my real name._

_I am a woman in the skin of a beast. I am Sarah Williams. I do not blame you if you think this is a joke, I encourage you to think so._

_Don't believe all the stories you hear, its not healthy. You have found your happy ending in love and I will find mine in freedom._

_If I am to miss anything from this world I will dearly miss the sound of your song._

_Sarah."_

At the end of the letter Freddy bids the Storyteller goodnight with tears in his eyes.

Epilogue

The rain is hard, washing away the tears on her face as she watches the sun set through thick grey clouds in a panic. Night is falling, and the streets are empty and unfamiliar in the fading light. The girl slumps, succumbing to her tears.

A stranger approaches and squats down with a wide, red umbrella, one that shelters them both.

"Are you lost, little girl?" asks the stranger.

"No!" The girl answers, frightened, but she is less so after seeing that the stranger is a woman with a kind of fondness in her eyes.

"Do you know where your home is?" The woman's smile is kind, however small it is.

"No," the girl admits, "but I'm not lost."

She has the feeling she has met this woman before.

"Who are you?" the girl asks.

"It depends," the woman answers with a little mischief.

"I'm Sarah," huffs the girl.

"Then I am your fairy godmother, here to help you home." The woman's eyes are bright, and little Sarah thinks she is being teased.

"No you're not," she insists.

"Yes I am," answers her alleged godmother.

"Girl fairies don't wear pants or ugly fur." Sarah tugs on the woman's dark fur shawl and recoils when she pulls away a feather.

"Yes they do. Have you ever met a fairy before?"

"Well… no."

"Then, how do you know?"

Little Sarah pouts.

"That's what I thought," the woman laughs.

"Well, I'm not lost so you can just leave me alone." Sarah turns her head away and the woman shrugs.

"Well, okay then." She stands, and once again the rain showers Sarah. She remembers the fireplace back home, the warmth of her mothers hug and their argument seems like nothing now.

"Wait!" her cry stops the woman, who once again shelters them both from the rain. "I am lost, I don't know how to get home."

"Then it is my duty as a godmother to show you the way home." The woman shows little Sarah a red ball of yarn.

"How will that help?"

"Here, hold it out under the rain."

Little Sarah does so, and to her amazement the yarn remains dry.

"Where did you get that?"

"It is a long story," her smile falters, "perhaps one day I will tell you. For now let me show you a neat trick. Think of home and roll the ball."

The yarn rolls around her feet and the little girl laughs in excitement as they follow after it together, hand in hand.

"That's it! That's my house, we were so close!" Sarah stops herself from running home and turns to thank her godmother.

"It's nothing." She hands the girl the ball of yarn. "Keep it so it may always guide you home."

"Thank you… er, what was your name?"

"It's Sarah, just like yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> The Storyteller
> 
> Antigone
> 
> Cinderella


End file.
